


Georgia Blues

by MissSlothy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Danny "Danno" Williams, BAMF Steve McGarrett, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Family, Family Feels, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, Loneliness, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Ohana, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28935066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: The flight time from Hawaii to Georgia is only 10 hours.  But when Stan Edwards has to go into the US Witness Protection scheme, along with Rachel, Grace and Charlie, Georgia may as well be on the moon.This is Steve and Danny’s story and what happens next.
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 192
Kudos: 198





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> The story was supposed to be my H50 Big Bang story 2020. Then it was going to be my NaNoWriMo 2020 story but it just grew and grew and grew :)
> 
> The whole story is now written (woohoo!), I'm half way through editing it. It's 90K words. The plan is to post two chapters a week, probably three, depending on which point it is in the story.
> 
> Chapter eight and nine - posted 20/02/21  
> Chapter ten and eleven - posted 27/02/21  
> Chapter twelve and thirteen - posted 06/03/21  
> Chapter fourteen and fifteen - posted 13/03/21

**Hawaii - early 2018**

Steve comes awake slowly. After a long day on a tough case he hadn’t got to bed until 2am. His body feels heavy, muscles aching from hours of exertion. His mind feels wrung out. Pummelled.

Eyes closed, he drifts towards full consciousness. Gradually the outside world seeps in. The dawn chorus. Waves. Sunlight, pink through his eyelids. The sound of Eddie’s claws on the floorboards downstairs. The smell of coffee, freshly brewed.

Smiling faintly, Steve lets it all roll over him. Enjoys the moment. Then he opens his eyes.

The world crashes in. His good mood shatters.

It’s a month since Grace and Charlie left the island. Left his life. The reality, as it hits him, doesn’t hurt any less. Taking a deep breath to offset the roil of his stomach, the nausea, he sits upright, swings his legs over the side of the bed. Scrubbing his hands through his hair, he blinks to clear his vision. Getting to his feet, he slips on a tee-shirt and swim shorts and heads downstairs.

Detouring to the kitchen for a mug of coffee, he heads outside. The sun’s only just risen. Despite the birds and the dawn chorus the air has a stillness about it, the calm before the hubbub of the day. Down by the beach Danny’s sitting in a chair, equally still.

Steve takes the seat beside him. Sipping at his coffee, he risks a sideways glance. Danny’s still staring out to sea. The mug of coffee he’s got balanced on his lap hasn’t been touched. Despite the early hour, he’s already dressed for work. He’s shaved, his hair is slicked back. To anyone who doesn’t know him, he looks fine. Normal.

The trouble is, he does know Danny. He knows those shadows under Danny’s eyes are getting darker every day. That the sharp planes of his face are because he’s not eating properly, that he’s barely managing to sleep. Every fibre of Steve’s being wants to reach out and hug him. But after the first few days after Grace and Charlie left even that form of comfort had been rejected.

Danny’s hurting. Locked down. In pain.

Steve swallows down the rest of the coffee in one gulp. Helplessness isn’t an emotion he’s used to dealing with. He’d do anything to put this right. But Charlie and Grace are gone – transported off the island with Stan and Rachel as part of the US Federal Witness Protection Programme – and the chances are they’re not coming back. Ever.

Putting his empty mug under this chair, he strips off his tee-shirt. “I’m going for a swim.”

It’s a needless explanation but he wants some sort of reaction from Danny before he leaves. There’s a pause then Danny finally meets his eyes. It takes all his self-control to not react to the sadness in them. Turning away before he says or does something that he knows will trigger an angry, grief-fuelled outburst, he runs into the sea.

_Coward,_ his conscience berates him as he dives under the waves. Kicking out, he ploughs through the waves. Common sense is telling him to take it easy with his tired body. Anger is driving his need to strike out.

Normally he’d work with the sea, not fight it. It’s not long before he’s being battered. A particularly big wave grabs him, pulls him under. Holding his breath he rolls with it, waits for it to spit him out. As his head breaks the surface he sucks in a lungful of air and starts swimming again.

He doesn’t just swim to keep fit. He does it to clear his head too. Today – like every day since Grace and Charlie left – it’s not working. His mind is constantly replaying the moment the FBI agents appeared in the Five-0 office, to tell Danny that Stan had been arrested and was being held in custody. Disbelief had turned to horror as they discovered that Stan had borrowed hugely from a company owned by Igor Bykov, the head of a Russian mafia gang. When he couldn’t repay Bykov his people had forced him to help them run their money laundering operation. When Stan tried to pull out they’d threatened Rachel, Grace and Charlie. Just as Stan thought things couldn’t get worse, the FBI had raided his office. With nowhere else to turn he’d agreed to become a witness in the case against the Bykov and the Russian gang.

The problem was, that meant going into the Witness Protection Scheme. It meant, after testifying, he’d be moved to somewhere on the mainland, given a new identity, a new start. Rachel was included in the protection programme. Dependents too.

Danny wasn’t.

_You should have done more._

The thought makes Steve dig harder into the water, push his body more. The FBI had taken him and Danny to the hotel where they were keeping the family, before leaving the island. Steve had begged Rachel to stay in Hawaii. Promised to protect them all. With his life if necessary. There’d been a moment when he’d thought she was wavering: Rachel and Stan, they were on the cusp of divorce after all. Then Stan had reappeared from an interview with the FBI officers, and suddenly the room was full of US Marshalls, and FBI agents and the opportunity was gone, her fear for her children pushing her on. 

In the middle of it all stood Danny, looking like a man whose whole world was being ripped apart. Eventually the Marshalls agreed that Danny could have 48 hours with his children, as long as they stayed in the hotel. He – Steve – had got two.

Flipping back under the water, he heads for home. Now he’s swimming against the current. Gradually his mind empties, making space to focus on surviving in the water. That’s good because he’s up to the part of the memory that hurts the most.

Sitting on the hotel room floor, playing cars with Charlie for the last time, Charlie’s bewilderment had broken his heart. Grace had sat beside him, snuggled up under his arm like she was seven again, rather than sixteen. The anger he could feel radiating from her was that of a young woman though, who understood exactly the implications of what was going on.

_“It’s not your fault, Gracie,”_ he’d whispered to her, when she’d confessed how guilty she felt for leaving her Danno. “ _I’ll look after him, I promise.”_

_“I’ll be back as soon as I can,”_ she’d told him, crying as they hugged for the last time. Blinking back his own tears, he’d hugged her tighter. He wanted to tell her he – _they_ – would be waiting. But the truth was they were going into Witness Protection for a reason. People rarely came out of it. Coming back to Hawaii would potentially put her in danger. He couldn’t encourage it. 

_“I’ll always love you,”_ he’d said instead.

Afterwards, he’d left Danny with Grace and Charlie and headed home. Sitting out on the beach, nursing a scotch, his mind had started taking him places he didn’t want to go. His own memories of being a teenager, ripped away from everything he knew. How losing his kids had destroyed his Dad. 

Swallowing the scotch in one go, he’d closed his eyes as it burnt its way down his throat. Drinking his way to oblivion felt like a great option. That wouldn’t help Danny though. Danny, if he was here, would be encouraging him to talk about it. There was only one other person in the world though who understood that time in his life. Taking out his phone, he'd dialled a well-used number.

It was the early hours of the morning in Los Angeles, but Mary still picked up after a few rings. Her sleepy tone had quickly turned to angry indignation as he explained what was happening. 

_“So what about Rachel? Can’t you talk to her, get her to change her mind?”_

_“She’s scared. Real scared._ ” Shaking his head, Steve tried to dispel some of the anger that was threatening to cloud his judgement, to paint Rachel purely as the bad guy. _“She’s trying to protect Charlie and Grace the best way she can.”_

There was a heavy pause. _“I hope Charlie and Grace understand that.”_

_“They’re not even my kids,”_ he’d told Mary, staring into the glass of scotch in his hand. “ _I shouldn’t be this upset.”_

_“Doesn’t mean you can’t love them,”_ she’d replied softly. There was a pause. “ _And you love their Dad.”_

The scotch was kicking in. Everything was fuzzy around the edges. Something in Mary’s tone cut through all of it. Panic stirred in the pit of his belly. A closely held secret was about to be revealed. _“It’s not like that, Mare."_

_“It’s okay—”_

_“I’m serious.”_

_“Have you told him about how you feel?”_

_“There’s nothing to tell him.”_

_“You might be surprised.”_

_“No.”_ The scotch had burned as he’d downed it in one gulp. _“I don’t know why you think…”_ The lie he’d been about to tell had stuck in his throat. _“He’s my closest friend. That’s all. You’re seeing something that’s not there.”_

She’d scoffed. _“You know we’ve had this conversation before, right?”_ She’d scoffed again, correctly translating his silence as a diversionary tactic. _“My 21 st birthday. You turned up on my doorstep, you were on leave. We got drunk. You told me about Freddie. Everything.”_

Mention of Freddie’s name had, as always, brought with it a wave of grief and regret. This time it was accompanied by growing panic. He’d forgotten how perceptive Mary could be, even thousands of miles away. It might have been better if he’d got drunk alone. _“We agreed we were never going to talk about that again.”_

_“You did. I didn’t.”_

_“If that had got out I would have been thrown out of the Navy.”_

_“You loved him.”_

_“I told you, it was just a way to burn off steam.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“He had a girl back home, Mare.”_

_“So? Maybe it was casual for him but I know it wasn’t for you.”_

The truth had still hurt, even after all these years. _“Is there a point to this?”_

_“What I’m saying is there’s a reason you’re finding this so hard. It’s not just about Grace and Charlie. You love Danny and this is why it hurts so much.”_

The urge to get blindingly drunk was back. _“He doesn’t feel the same way.”_

_“You think he hasn’t noticed the way you look at him when you don’t think he’s looking?”_

He’d covered his eyes with his hand. _“Oh, god.”_

_“He’s still there. Sharing your house.”_

A terrible thought occurred to him. _“You’re saying he feels sorry for me?”_

_“For crying out loud, what is wrong with you? I’m saying that sometimes, when you’re not looking, he’s giving you the same look.”_

Slumping back into the couch, he’d tried to take it all in. Any other time, he’d would have felt hopeful. Even excited. Now, there was only one thought in his mind. _“They’re taking his children away from him, Mare.”_

Mary’s answering sigh had been heavy with sadness and understanding. 

His mind’s eye conjured up an image of Mary sitting on her couch at home, Joanie safely asleep upstairs in the bedroom he’d painted for her during his last trip to LA. It fed the despair that was threatening to drag him under. _“What I am supposed to…I don’t know what to do. How to help him.”_

_“You do whatever he needs. Take it one day at a time.”_

_“What if it’s not enough?”_

_“It’s got to be, Steve.”_

Dragging himself back to the present, Steve swims for the shore. Wading through the shallows, he runs his fingers through his hair, blinks the sea water from his eyelashes.

Danny’s waiting for him. He’s holding the towel. “Breakfast.”

Taking the towel, Steve throws it over his head and starts scrubbing. When he ducks back out from under it he’s not surprised to see Danny already heading back to the house. Danny hadn’t been asking him a question: he’d been making a statement. This is their routine now. Every morning.

With a heavy heart he follows him. He knows what he’ll find inside. Danny will be cooking eggs for both of them. Most of it will end up on Steve’s plate. He tells himself that at least Danny is eating something, rather than arguing and not eating anything at all. 

He misses their old arguments. The banter built on love. Now they have fights. Pent up anger and frustration spews out at the slightest thing.

Going to work is a relief, an escape. For both of them. Over the years, they’ve been gradually taking a step back from the physical stuff, letting the younger team members take the lead. Now Danny’s pushing himself back into the frontline. Not just physically either: he’s been obsessing over every potential lead, wanting to personally interview every suspect. He’s taking risks. Sailing close to the edge of disaster.

Steve shadows him every step of the way. When Danny had first insisted on going to work, a week after Grace and Charlie left, he’d just been pleased Danny had been taking an interest in something. _Anything._ Now he’s constantly on watch, worried he’d going to miss something. That he won’t be there when Danny pushes something – or _someone_ \- too hard. 

Parking up outside the Ioani Palace, he locks the car and follows Danny inside. This is the part of the day that always disturbs Steve the most. Danny smiles and chats to everyone he meets like nothing is wrong. Sure, anyone who knows Danny well will notice that the spark of life, of passion, that is so essentially Danny is missing. But outwardly, it’s the old Danny. It sends a shiver down his spine.

Danny’s shoulders sag as they travel up in the elevator. The mask slips. Steve wants to offer him words of comfort, ask him how he is. There’s no point though and they both know it. Instead he takes a step closer, brushes his arm against Danny’s. Silently he wills Danny to lean against him, to let him help carry the load. When Danny does, stumbling slightly, his heart skips with relief.

The relief is short-lived though.

The elevator door slides open. Lou’s waiting for them: he got Security to ring when they came into the building. Beside him, Danny straightens up, pastes a faint smile on his face. 

“What we got, Lou?” Steve asks, trying to ignore the fact his heart is breaking a little bit more, as they all start walking towards the office.

“One of our perp’s was spotted this morning out on the North Shore. Looks like he’s got a few of his friends with him and they’re packing enough hardware for a small army.”

“We’re going in?”

The enthusiasm in Danny’s voice sounds unnatural. It sets off warning bells in Steve’s head. “Let’s assess the situation first.”

The warning bells ring louder as Lou’s expression morphs into one of regret. “SWAT are already on their way. I said we’d meet them there.”

Danny’s already stepping round them, heading for the main office where Tani, Junior and Adam are huddled around the open weapons cabinets. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

As Steve goes to follow, Lou puts out a hand to stop him. When Lou turns them, so they have their backs to the office, he knows what’s coming. “Don’t—” he starts but Lou’s there before him.

“Are you sure he should be going out there?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Steve exhales slowly. It isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation. “What do you want me to do, huh? Tell him to stay home?”

“Any chance he’d hold the fort here if you asked him?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he can see Danny and Junior checking weapons, counting out ammunition. “What do you think?”

Lou follows his gaze. “I think…I think if it was my kids I’d do the same.” Their gazes meet. A shadow passes over Lou’s face. “How you doing today?”

The small of act of kindness feels huge. Too much. Reaching out to squeeze Lou’s shoulder, Steve turns away. “Danny’s right. We should get going. We can’t let SWAT have all the fun.”

The next hour provides Steve with the distraction that he’s desperate for. They might have chosen to step back recently but he still loves the rush of adrenaline as they pack up the weapons and head out to the parking lot. The chatter on the police radios as they speed through the streets of Honolulu, blue lights flashing. The surge of anticipation as he gathers everyone around for a final briefing before they breach the warehouse.

It’s a heady feeling.

It’s having an effect on Danny too. Silent in the car, now they are at the warehouse he’s animated. Tac vest on, weapon cradled in his arms, he’s pacing back and forth during the briefing. As soon as the talking is over he’s jogging towards his allocated breach point, Junior close behind him.

Steve joins them, tucks in front of Danny. Glancing over his shoulder, he checks on his friends. Junior nods, focused, tightly controlled energy waiting to explode. Danny nods too but there’s a hard edge to it, a lack of emotion in his eyes. When he reviews the mission later Steve will acknowledge he should have listened to Lou’s advice and benched Danny. Right now though adrenaline is coursing through his veins, helping him push everything else to the back of his mind. He can taste victory and he needs it so bad.

Raising his gun, he gives the command to breach.

TBC


	2. Steve

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Danny?”

Leaning back against the Camero, Danny crosses his arms. He raises his chin, holds his gaze. The defiant gesture is ruined by the blood drippling from his split lip, dripping on the front of his shirt. “He wanted a fight. I gave him one.”

Steve mirrors Danny, crosses his arms. He’s torn between punching Danny himself and wanting to drag him to the EMAs to check out the cuts and bruises that litter his face. “You were supposed to restrain him, not pick a fight. That’s what we have guns for.”

Danny snorts. Derisive. “See, there was this ex-Navy SEAL I used to work with. Fresh out of North Korea. Thought he was Rambo. He used to do shit like this all the time.”

Steve raises his own chin. “He was an idiot.” An idiot who was dealing with his own grief back then, he reminds himself. Silently counting to ten, he breathes deeply. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

Danny pushes away from the car, makes to leave. “I got paperwork to do. I’ll see you later—"

“Home. Now.”

Danny stops but only because he, Steve, is standing in his space, blocking his way. He’s not even sure how he got there. How those two simple words could sound so angry yet desperate at the same time. It takes a frightening amount of effort to step back. To not grab Danny and bundle him into the car.

Poised, teetering on the edge, he steels himself for the moment Danny walks away. From him.

What he doesn’t expect is for Danny to open the car door and get in. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up. Hurrying round the car he gets in too. Fingers suddenly clumsy he starts up the car, guns it away before Danny can change his mind and get out again.

A heavy, painful silence falls inside the car. Steve breaks it twice. The first time to call Lou and tell him where they are going. The second to ask Danny if he needs something to press against the deep cut above his left eyebrow: it’s bleeding steadily, making his face look like a gory Halloween mask.

The first conversation is much longer than the second one. Lou convinces him to take the rest of the day, with Danny. It’s on the tip of his tongue to argue. He’d prefer to be busy, he’s absolutely certain Danny would too. Then he glances over at Danny and the truth hits him: it’s time for all of them to stop tiptoeing around Danny like they’re walking on eggshells. Danny got hurt today. Deliberately. It’s time for an honest conversation.

It’s exactly what Danny did for him at the start of their partnership, Steve reminds himself as they park outside his house. The constant disagreements, the criticism: they were Danny’s efforts to cut through the constant angry chatter he’d had in his head back then.

Knowing he has to do it doesn’t make it any easier though. Especially when Danny slumps on the couch, head in his hands. 

Steve hesitates. Lost. A mental shake gets him moving again, into the kitchen for a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit. Back in the living room, he sits on the coffee table, facing Danny. Opening the first aid kit he gets out what he needs. He has to nudge Danny’s knee a couple of times with his own to get his attention. Raising the bowl, he takes Danny’s silent grimace as agreement to continue.

Wiping gently, he removes from the blood from Danny’s face. Danny’s staring over his shoulder, at something only he can see. Gradually though his eyelids flutter closed. He exhales, softly, all the fight going out of him.

Steve swaps the bowl for anti-septic wipes. “Want to tell me what happened?”

There’s a long silence. “I hit him.”

Reaching deep for patience, Steve carefully starts applying steri-strips to the deepest wound. “Maybe next time you might want to wait for backup?”

“Maybe.”

Danny’s casual disregard for his own safety chips away at his attempt to remain calm. “You can’t keep doing this, Danny.”

“Doing what?”

He can’t help himself: he lets his frustration creep in. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

Danny opens his eyes. He looks defeated. Bone-weary and sad. “What am I supposed to do, huh?”

Steve knows Danny’s not talking about what happened today, or about his job. He could lie – say things will get better - but this is absolutely the wrong time to do that. Abandoning the medical supplies on the table, he hunkers down so he’s down at the same level as Danny. “I don’t know, buddy.”

“You don’t know? I thought you had the answer to everything?” Danny’s tone is that of a man who is hurting. Who needs to share the hurt because if not it’ll consume him.

Steve knows how that feels. Despite that the words still have the power to wound him. Biting at his bottom lip, he wishes Stan and Rachel were here right now to see the damage they’ve caused. To feel the pain Danny’s feeling. 

Danny shifts. “I’m going back to the office.”

“No.” Panic is bubbling inside his chest. Every day since Charlie and Grace left he’s followed Danny like he’s his shadow. Awake or asleep, he’s been there. Today he failed. He broke the promise he made. “I told them…Charlie and Grace…I told them I’d look after you.”

The words have slipped out: the last words Charlie and Grace whispered to him. Instantly he wants to take them back. They were a secret. One he didn’t want to share with Danny. Knowing his children are out there somewhere, worrying about him, it only adds to Danny’s burden. “Danny—”

Danny shrugs away Steve’s attempt to reach out, to offer comfort. His head goes down. Jagged. There’s silence. Heavy. Impenetrable. Then his body curves in on itself. His hands come up to cover his face. And he cries.

Steve doesn’t let him reject his offer of comfort this time. Wrapping his arms around Danny’s shoulders, he pulls him in. With the top of Danny’s head tucked against his shoulder, he holds on tight, whispering comfort.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Danny cry since this started. But it’s the most painful to watch. Danny’s bowed. Defeated. He’s heaving in air but he’s not sobbing. It’s like all the anger from earlier in the day has drained out of him. It’s left an empty shell where Danny used to be.

Eventually silence falls again. With gentle nudges and prodding, he persuades Danny to stretch out on the couch. When Danny rolls away, to stare at the back of the couch, Steve lets it go. He understands how Danny feels right now in the aftermath, remembers the times their roles have been reversed. 

Retrieving a throw from the end of the couch, he tucks it around Danny. Not waiting for a response, he turns the television on, puts the volume down low, then stretches out on the recliner chair. For a while he pretends he’s watching the television. Time passes. Once he thinks it’s safe to, he looks over at the couch. 

Judging by the even rise and fall of his chest, it appears Danny’s asleep.

Giving up all pretence, Steve watches over him. Not for the first time, he runs through his mind any potential options to solve this. None of them will work, not without knowing where Stan and Rachel are. And even if they did, Danny packing up his bags and joining them would act like a homing beacon to Igor Bykov’s Russian mafia gang. 

And all of the options involve Danny leaving him.

He swallows hard against a sudden wave of nausea. Danny needs them, he reminds himself, taking in the cuts and bruises on Danny’s face. His own feelings have to take second place. And he’d survive, here in Oahu with his ohana. The separation would be worth it to see a smile on Danny’s face again.

But putting a smile back on Danny’s face seems like a long way off, right now. Maybe even impossible. To his frustration, all the skills he has, the connections, they’re worth nothing. What they actually need is a lucky break. 

And they need one soon.

H50h50H50

It’s another week until the lucky break he’s been praying for happens. And it comes from an unexpected source.

They’ve just come home from another day at the office. Danny’s been looking better, like the explosion of anger has released the pressure, at least for a while. It’s like he knows it won’t last though, because he’s been going out of his way to do the thing he enjoys most. Tonight he’s cooking dinner for both of them: seafood pasta, just like his grandmother used to make.

Steve’s listening to him talking about cooking pasta – like he has a hundred times before – but he’s trying to take it all in, enjoy it. Because this respite feels like a gift he should be enjoying, even though he’s got a knot of anxiety in his stomach. It’s his constant companion now.

So when he collects the mail and starts sorting through it, he’s not really concentrating. He’s following Danny into the kitchen before he notices the postcard, tucked in-between all the bills. Pulling it out, he reads the message. Flipping it over, he checks the photo on the front. 

He frowns. “I thought Bridget was on vacation in Canada?”

Danny’s got the fridge door open. He sticks his head back round. His eyebrows meet together in a V. “She is. Why?”

Steve flicks the card round, reads it again. “’Cos this says she’s in Georgia.” Handing it over, he watches Danny’s face run through a myriad of emotions as he reads it. Alarm bells go off in his head. “We got a problem?”

Danny exhales loudly. Harsh. Unsteady. “It’s Rachel’s handwriting.”

The bottom falls out of Steve’s world. “Are you sure?” Danny hands back the card and he reads again, looking, checking, even though he has no idea what Rachel’s handwriting looks like. Checking the photo, he reads aloud the caption underneath. “Blue Ridge Mountains. Georgia.” Looking up he meets Danny’s gaze, notes how pale he’s suddenly turned. “You know what this means, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny whispers, so quietly Steve can barely him. “It means Charlie and Grace are in Georgia.”

H50H50H50

They prepare the pasta in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It’s not until he’s chewing on the first mouthful – rich tomato sauce, with a hint of garlic and perfectly seasoned with black pepper – that Steve feels ready to share his thoughts:

“Georgia’s a big place. But at least now we know where to start looking.”

Danny picks at his pasta half-heartedly. Putting a small forkful in his mouth he chews slowly. “It’s wilderness country. They’ve probably got them holed up in a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere without water or electricity—”

Steve leans over to tap his fork on Danny’s plate to get his attention. “This isn’t the movies. Does Stan strike you as a homesteader?” He bobs his head down to read Danny’s expression. Understanding dawns. “They wouldn’t do that, especially not with Charlie and Grace with them.”

Danny meets his eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve…I’ve got some experience,” he confesses. Now isn’t the time for details though. “Look, they need to integrate them into a community. Somewhere big enough for them to disappear into. But not too big. If it’s too big you can’t see trouble coming at you until it’s too late.”

Danny’s expression turns distant. “A town or the suburbs of a city.”

“Yeah.” Steve chews through two more mouthfuls before speaking again. He’s hungry. And this isn’t going to be an easy conversation to have. “So, do you want to find them?”

It’s a stupid question but he’s not sure how else to frame it. The answering flash of anger in Danny’s eyes isn’t a surprise. “I can’t, you know that. I go and I’ll lead them to Charlie and Grace.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask who ‘they’ are. He goes to take another mouthful of food. Aborts the move half way. The food is going to stick in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he meets Danny’s eyes. “I know how to make you disappear.”

Danny drops his fork. It clatters against the ceramic plate. He looks down, his gaze fixed on the table. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Danny—”

“Don’t do this—”

Steve pushes on. If he doesn’t say this now he’ll never be able to. His heart hurts too much to go through this again. “I know it’s going to be hard to find them but I’ve got contacts, people who can help. And I’ve found people in harder conditions than this. It’ll take time but I can teach you how to—”

“No.”

“Just think about it—”

“No.” Danny’s glaring at him now. His expression is hard. Stubborn. Determined. “Why the hell did you have to suggest this, huh?”

Genuinely confused, Steve puts his own fork down. He’d expected some resistance: Danny would be worried about exposing the whereabouts of Charlie and Grace. But this is different. Angrier. More visceral. “I don’t understand—”

Danny pushes his chair back. It screeches across the kitchen floor. “No, you wouldn’t, would you,” he spits out. 

“Danny—” he starts but Danny’s already moving, out of the kitchen and up the stairs. There’s the sound of a bedroom door slamming. Then silence.

Shocked, Steve doesn’t move. He’s vaguely aware of the rapidly cooling bowl of pasta in front of him. Of the smell of garlic and tomato that had smelled so appetising before but now makes him want to throw up. Torn between checking on Danny and clearing up, he instead does nothing.

When he checks his watch, another twenty minutes have passed. Annoyed with himself, he collects up the plates. Scraping the remains of their meal into Eddie’s bowl, it’s only a few seconds before Eddie appears. A few minutes later and it’s like the pasta never existed, the bowl licked clean.

Washing up doesn’t take much longer. Too soon he’s got nothing else to do. With nowhere else to go he retreats to the couch, letting Eddie jump up beside him. Absently stroking Eddie’s ears, he starts flicking through the TV channels. Landing on a football game, he tries to settle in.

It doesn’t happen. His body might be still but his mind is racing ahead. Helping Danny get a new identity had been one of the options he’d been working on all along - despite it being the option that tore his heart in two. What had kept him motivated him was the anticipation of Danny’s reaction. What had just happened – completely the opposite – just doesn’t make sense to him. It’s not a scenario he’d planned for at all.

Letting his head fall back on the couch cushions, Steve closes his eyes. There is a part of him, he admits to himself reluctantly, that wants Danny to hate this plan. To keep Danny in his house, even if it’s not in the way he dreams of. To not have the person he loves most in the world leave him to survive on his own.

_Suck it up,_ Steve tells himself, angrily. _Your Mom. Your Dad. Freddie. Joe. You’ve managed. You’ll pick yourself up again._

A noise jerks Steve back to the present. Blinking to clear his vision, he realises the living room is gloomy. Time’s passed. The sun’s low on the horizon, setting. Rolling his shoulders to ease the crick in his neck, he realises he’s not alone: Danny is perched on the edge of the recliner chair. 

Head tilted slightly, apologetically, Danny meets his gaze. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” 

Steve rubs at his eyes. He must have fallen asleep. His brain feels sluggish. Coming up with an intelligent answer feels impossible. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” Chewing on his bottom lip, Danny carefully considers his next words. “I’ve thought about it okay? About what would happen if I found them.” He pushes up from the recliner, starts pacing. “I want it but…”

“It’s not that simple?”

“My Mom and Dad. My sisters. I don’t know when I’d get to see them again and I’m not sure…I don’t know if I can make that choice, you know?”

No answer is necessary. Steve knows only too well. 

“And Mom, she’s already lost Matt, Grace and Charlie. I don’t how much she can take. And…leaving here…leaving Hawaii….it was so hard to leave Jersey, to start again….” Danny stops pacing. Stuffing his hands in his pockets he stares sightlessly at the floor. He inhales, slowly. “You could come with.”

The offer hits Steve like a physical blow. Now it’s his turn to look away, to avoid eye-contact. He’s thought about this too. He’d leave Hawaii for Danny. Even just as friends. But he’s got other responsibilities. “I can’t. Mary and Joanie…”

He trails off. There’s nothing more to say. Danny’s posture is telling him that he gets it, that this is one problem that is insurmountable. Mary’s been abandoned too many times in her life. She’s got no one else.

He waits as Danny starts pacing again. When he stops, takes a seat on the couch beside him, Steve’s heartbeat starts racing. Danny’s nervous now in a way he’s not seen him before. When Danny hunkers down beside him to catch his gaze, his expression is intent. He reads it. Struggles to understand it. Comprehension comes. There’s a moment of elation. His heart swells with love. Then panic, like he’s never felt before. “Don’t—”

“I wasn’t…I was going to say _that_ —”

“Danny—”

“If it was anyone but my kids I’d stay here.” Danny pauses. “With you. You know that, right?”

“No.” The word’s come out much sharper than Steve intended: Danny’s recoiled. Steve half-falls in his hurry to get off the couch. There’s a possibility he’s misread this, but deep down he knows he hasn’t. 

“ _Steve—_ ”

Hands raised in front of him, he starts backing away. “We can’t have this conversation right now, okay?”

Danny’s face folds: hurt, disappointment, rejection. Pain. It’s almost enough to stop him. To make him sit back on the couch and voice the words that he’s dying to say: _I love you._

Steve can’t though because Danny needs Grace and Charlie. That’s the only option that allows Danny to survive this. If he admits what he’s thinking – lets loose emotions he’s kept locked down tight for _years_ _–_ he won’t be able to do what needs to be done. So instead of sitting back down on the couch he heads for the stairs, takes them two at a time. Not looking back down over the banister, he heads for his bedroom. Closing the door behind him, he rests his head against it. Tells himself to breathe.

_You can do this,_ Steve tells himself, even though every cell of his being is telling him to get back down there. To tell Danny the truth about how he feels. He’s not sure how long he stands there, alone in the darkness. But eventually there are footsteps on the staircase. They pause at the top, for a long time. Finally, the guest bedroom door opens and closes.

Steve lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. He makes his fingers unfurl from their tightly curled fists. Sitting on the bed, he toes off his shoes, swings his legs over, stretches out. Staring at the ceiling, he imagines Danny doing the same across the hall. There have been nights before when his thoughts about Danny have been sexual in nature, when he’s dreamed about how it would feel to have Danny in his bed. Tonight though, he imagines the loneliness and loss Danny is feeling.

It makes his heart ache to its core.

_You can do this,_ Steve repeats to himself, in the darkness. _You have to. You’ve got no choice._

_TBC_


	3. Steve

Steve doesn’t sleep well. Somewhere around 5am he hears Danny’s bedroom door open. Lying in the darkness he tracks the squeak of floorboards; down the stairs, across the living room, into the kitchen. The kitchen tap runs. The fridge open and closes. Eventually there’s the soft thud of the front door being closed carefully. The Camaro springs into life.

He waits for the distinctive rumble of its engine to fade into the distance before he switches on his bedside light. Danny’s gone to the office, he’s sure of that. Part of him wants to jump in his truck and follow. To go have the conversation he’s been playing out in his head all night. The one where he confesses how he feels about Danny.

He goes for a swim instead.

His brain still doesn’t empty. Instead, the images of Grace and Charlie saying goodbye are replaced by the memory of the night before, the pain and rejection on Danny’s face.

He swims for as long as he’d dare. By the time he makes it back to the beach his legs feel like jelly. Staggering as his toes sink into the sand, he grabs the back of the chair for balance. His eyes drift towards the empty chair beside it: Danny’s chair. 

An image of what his future is going to be like stretches out in front of him. No Danny. No Grace. No Charlie. His chest feels like it’s being crushed.

It takes all the mental training he learnt in BUDS to shut the image and the emotions down. _You’ve got a mission to complete,_ he tells himself, switching to automatic pilot to get inside the house, showered and changed. _How are you going to help Danny disappear? Who do you need to talk to? What’s the target? Where does he need to be? Where are Grace and Charlie?_

Stupidly grateful for the distraction – and the chance to willfully ignore what’s going to happen if he gets this right – he drives to work. The journey passes in a blur as he calculates options versus risk. The important thing is that Danny isn’t discovered. Igor Bykov and his Russian mafia gang will be expecting Danny to try and find Grace and Charlie so dressing him up as a tourist and putting him on the first flight to Georgia isn’t going to work. 

Danny’s going to have to be patient up-range. Move and counter-move. Multiple changes of identity and location. It’s going to take time and patience. Patience isn’t something Danny’s got a lot of right now.

He’s still running through options as he steps out of the elevator, into the Five-0 office. Danny’s office is empty. Relief battles against worry. Then he looks over to his office and realises that it’s not empty. Danny’s sitting on the couch. Hunched over, hands clenched together, Danny’s watching him approach.

Steve studies Danny’s expression. Dread turns his legs heavy as lead. There’s a part of him, he sees with hindsight, that was hoping that Danny would stay. He’s certain now that he won’t. _You could ask him to stay,_ a voice in his head prompts gently. Shaking his head, he advances on his office.

Danny sits upright as he pushes through the door to his office. Steve ignores him for a moment, trying to get his own thoughts together. But he can feel Danny’s eyes tracking him, the intensity of his gaze. Walking around his desk, he slumps down in his chair.

Danny meets his gaze. Holds it. “I’m sorry.”

Raising his chin, Steve makes himself look into Danny’s eyes. His stomach somersaults: the emotions in Danny’s eyes are raw, so real. He wants to reach out and touch them. To ease the pain. “What about?”

“I um…” Danny trails off. Looking away, he runs his palms over his pants. “I….I maybe suggested something you weren’t ready to hear. I shouldn’t have—"

“No.” The denial comes out in a harsh whisper. There’s so much more Steve wants to say – _so_ much -but the words are stuck, trapped by years of self-denial. 

To his horror Danny nods sadly, as if in agreement. “I need you to understand that our friendship…our friendship it’s one of the most important things in my life. I can’t…I don’t want it to change. So, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Especially now…”

Danny trails off. Looks up at him. Pleading. Taking pity, he forces out the words that neither of them want to hear. “You’re going to Georgia.”

“I think maybe I’d like to talk about it some more.” Danny slumps. Runs his hands over his hair. He sighs. It’s sounds like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I know you wouldn’t put Grace and Charlie in danger but I got to be sure and--”

“It’s okay,” Steve cuts in, softly, “I get it.” Silence falls between them. It’s lies like a heavy blanket over them, deadening all communication. It’s a sharp contrast to the cacophony of noise inside his head: voices yelling at him to at least tell Danny how he feels about him. He takes a step forward, breathes deep, ready to tell Danny how he feels….

And across from the offices, the lift opens. Lou, Junior and Tani step out, filling the corridor with colour, sound and movement.

Steve glances over at Danny, just in time to see a look of desperate relief cross his face. He raises his hand to get his attention but he’s too late. Danny’s already getting to his feet, smoothing his hands back over his hair.

“So we’re okay?” Us? We just pretend it never happened and you know…just carry on…”

He should be grateful that Danny’s given him the escape route he wants, he thinks vaguely. To stop him from having to confess something he’s hidden for so long. He hadn’t realised it would hurt so much though. Worse, Danny looks small. And vulnerable. The last thing he wanted to do was make Danny feel like this. 

Danny’s been rejecting hugs since Grace and Charlie left. This time he doesn’t give him the opportunity. Using his height to his advantage, he reels Danny in. For a brief moment they hold onto each other, like two people drowning in a storm. Then Lou’s laugh rings through the offices and they’re pulling apart.

“I think that’s our cue, babe,” Danny says, straightening up his shirt. A weak smile flits across his lips. Puffing out his cheeks, he exhales loudly. “Let’s do this.”

It takes everything he has to match Danny’s smile. Bowing slightly, Steve waves towards the door. “After you.”

H50H50H50

That day, as he follows Danny out into the main office, Steve tells himself they’ll be opportunities to talk about _this_ later. It’s what allows him to push it to the back of his head and focus on the case they’re working on, like he needs to.

Of course, they don’t talk about it.

They don’t talk about it in the following weeks as they work late into the night, working out a plan to get Danny safely into Georgia. They don’t talk about it as he teaches Danny the skills he’ll need to find Grace and Charlie. They don’t talk about it in the rare quiet moments they have together on the beach, drinking beer as the sun sets. They don’t even talk about it when one night Danny surprises him with dinner at his favourite restaurant, Morimoto’s.

Instead, they enjoy each other’s company. They store up memories. Memories that are going to have to last them years. Maybe even a lifetime.

H50h50H50

Danny decides to hold a BBQ, the day before he’s due to leave.

Steve argues that it’s a bad idea. They haven’t told the team. The more people who know, the more chance there is that Danny will be discovered. But Danny’s adamant. The team, Danny argues, would never give away any secrets. It’s not like they’re going to share the whole damn plan over steaks and beer. Leaving them without telling them, that’s unthinkable. After everything they’ve been through together, they deserve more.

Steve folds, against his better judgement. He knows it’s not just because Danny needs to say goodbye. It’s because he knows Danny’s worried about him.

So he puts on a brave face as Danny tells the team he’s leaving. He reassures them all the plan is sound, that Danny will be safe. When Tani suggests they should turn this night into the ‘ _biggest fuckin’ party ever’_ , her voice trembling with emotion, he’s the first to the kitchen to raid the supply of beer and wine. 

Sitting out on the lanai with his ohana, he shares all his old stories about Danny. Danny does his part, arguing every single word that comes out of his mouth. It’s not long until everybody’s laughing so hard they’re almost crying. Inevitably, the mood eventually changes and there are real tears and a group hug that makes his ribs creak. Gradually, regretfully, everyone starts to leave. 

Steve watches from the lanai as Danny stands at the front door and says good bye to each of them. Whispered words only they can hear. He can see how much this is taking out of Danny though. How much it’s taking out of every member of his team. 

He doesn’t miss the moment Lou looks over at him just before he leaves. It’s a look which promises there’s going to be a _conversation,_ and soon. There’s going to be a lot of conversations, he realises, suddenly too tired to continue ignoring the enormity of what they’ve put in place.

Danny’s _leaving._

His heartbeat skyrockets as the truth hits home. The alcohol in his system makes the world tilt. Flushing hot and cold, it takes everything not to throw up. Grabbing the nearest chair, he collapses into it. Closing his eyes he tells himself to breathe, just _breathe._

“Babe?”

Danny’s worried voice gives him something to latch onto. Breathing in slowly, he opens his eyes. “I’m okay.”

Nothing could be further from the truth, he acknowledges, as he studies Danny’s face. But the decision has been made and it’s a good one, no matter how much it’s hurting both of them. Getting to his feet, he opens his arms. “C’me here.”

Steve closes his eyes again as Danny steps forward and embraces him. He’s going to need this memory for a long time. Working through his senses he records everything. Danny’s scent. The compact strength of his body, the curve of his muscles under his shirt. The huff of his breathing as he struggles to catch his breath. The taste of Danny’s skin as he kisses him, chastely, on his cheek.

_Shit._

Panic has him pulling away but Danny holds him tight. _Coward,_ Steve’s inner voice mocks as he considers keeping his eyes shut. Slowly, reluctantly, he opens them. And looks straight into Danny’s eyes.

Everything he’s feeling is reflected in them. _Everything._ Then Danny shifts and _he’s_ being kissed. Properly. Deeply. Desperately. It hits his heart like a jolt of electricity.

There’s a pause. Then Danny steps back. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he rubs his hand across his face. “I shouldn’t have done that but I’m leaving and I _know_ you, and I needed you to understand, babe…. You’re loved. By me. Danny Williams. That’s never going to change. You understand?”

Tears are prickling his eyelids. Too choked to speak, Steve nods instead.

Silence falls.

Danny shuffles on the spot. Staring at the ground, he scrubs at his face again. “I should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Steve hears himself saying, as if from a long distance away, “you’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to see me off tomorrow. We agreed, remember?”

His stomach roils, threatening nausea again. He remembers just fine. Now the moment’s almost here though, he’s got no idea how he’s supposed to deliver on that promise. He lets his gaze travel towards the beach, concentrates on the waves. “You packed?”

“Almost.”

“You got the burner phone and the codes I gave you—”

“I got everything.”

“Good.” He takes a deep breath, forces his attention back to Danny. “Good.”

Silence falls again. There’s nothing left to say and yet there’s so much he still wants to share. It’s the pain in Danny’s eyes that stops him. His best friend – the man he loves – is being torn in two.

Swallowing hard, Steve takes a step back. “You go up. I’ll lock up.”

Danny nods. Jerky. Their eyes meet and he hesitates. There’s a second when it looks like he’s going to say something, then he turns and walks inside the house.

Steve listens to him walk up the staircase. A whine from Eddie drags back his attention. Eddie circles his legs once then flops down under the seat he’s just vacated. Taking the hint, he sits back down. 

A check of his watch shows it’s just gone midnight. It’s still warm outside, the air still and muggy. His brain is running like a hamster on a spinning wheel. Sleep isn’t going to happen. Sliding down the seat, he stretches out his legs. In four hours Danny’s going to be on his way to the airport. 

Back in the day he’d stayed awake, on duty, for much longer. Settling down, he takes the last watch.

H50H50H50

Steve’s body betrays him. Exhaustion takes over. He falls asleep.

When he wakes up the sun is just coming up over the horizon, making the sea glitter pink. Inside the house it’s still gloomy. Stretching, he winces. He’s too old to sleep on the recliner all night.

Checking his watch, reality hits him. His stomach roils. Nausea burns at his throat. Danny’s cab is due in a few minutes. Pushing himself to his feet, he heads for the stairs. A whine from the kitchen – Eddie – stops him. Backtracking, he cautiously pushes open the kitchen door. 

Eddie’s sitting by the door to the garage, staring at it like he’s hoping to open it with the power of his mind. Instantly alarm bells ring in his head. Reaching up, he retrieves a handgun from the top of a kitchen cabinet, from where he’s stashed it. Checking it, he gets ready to open the garage door.

Cocking his head, he listens for a moment. There’s no sound from inside the garage. Eddie whines, impatient. Trusting Eddie’s instincts, he counts to three and pushes the door open.

It takes his eyes a moment to adapt to the darkness. When they do, he lowers his gun. Danny’s standing at the far end of the garage, next to the work bench. His bags are on the floor beside him. 

Heart thudding, Steve lowers his gun. Danny’s stroking Eddie, acknowledging his excited whining, but he’s not looking up. “What are you doing?”

Danny trails his hand across the workbench, his expression still distant. “Remembering.”

Steve looks around the garage. The memory comes back, like it was only yesterday. “The first time we met. I offered you a job with Five-0.”

Danny finally looks up at him. “It was a kidnapping. You didn’t _offer_ anything. And then you got me shot. On the first day, Steve. The _first_ day.”

Steve glances around the garage. Pretends to indulge in the memory. It’s easier than seeing the pain in Danny’s eyes. “You loved it really.”

Danny snorts. “I hated Hawaii back then. I used to dream about when I’d get home to Jersey. Now…” he pauses, scrubs his hand across his face, “now I don’t want to leave. How stupid is that.”

Steve forces to look at Danny again. “It’s not stupid.” He swallows hard. Words are sticking in his throat. “I…I don’t want you to leave either. But Grace and Charlie, they’re out there waiting for you. You’ve…you’ve got to go.”

Danny takes a step towards him. “Steve—”

“We’ll always be here for you,” Steve interrupts, raising a hand. “Always. Whatever you need.”

Danny stops. Steps back. His shoulders slump. “I know that. I just…I just wish…”

Steve lowers his head. “I know, Danny. I do too.”

The sound of car pulling up outside stops whatever other conversation there might be. As one they look towards the noise. Then slowly, reluctantly, they look at each other again.

Danny raises his hand, presses his palm on his chest. Over his heart. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve mirrors his gesture. Danny’s voice is gruff, thick with emotion. It’s almost too much. “I love you too, Danny.”

Danny nods once. Sharp. Then he’s picking up his bags, sliding past him, heading for the door to the kitchen.

He’s _leaving._

Steve forces himself not to react as Danny’s elbow nudges him as he brushes past. Danny’s expression is shuttered, his body language screaming ‘keep off’. It’s taking everything he’s got to walk out of here. He needs him, Steve, to support him. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he watches Danny leave.

He stands and listens as Danny walks through the kitchen, then out into the living room. Eddie whines as the front door opens and closes. Steve blindly reaches out and strokes Eddie’s ears as the cab starts up and pulls away from the driveway. 

The sound of the car engine fades into the distance.

Steve’s not really aware of his legs folding under him, only that suddenly he’s sitting on the ground. Eddie nuzzles at him worriedly. He pulls him close, buries his face in Eddie’s fur.

Ever since his Mom died, he’s got used to being lonely. Even in the Navy, apart from Cath, Joe and Freddie, he’d deliberately kept himself from forming relationships. He’d got used to dealing with people leaving him. Built up barriers, so no one could hurt him. Then Danny had come along and made him rethink everything he thought he knew about himself.

Wrapping his arms around Eddie, he cries.

TBC


	4. Steve

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

_As soon as they breach the warehouse a shiver of dread slides down his spine. It’s not just the lack of targets; three perps instead of the dozen or so they’d been expecting. It’s the feeling of being watched. Steve knows he’s not the only one feeling it. Lou’s right beside him: he nods tersely when he glances over. “Stay sharp,” Steve whispers to him, tapping his ear piece to share the order with Junior, Tani and Adam as well, who are entering from the other side of the warehouse. “This doesn’t feel right.”_

_Raising his rifle, he scans the shadows in the roof. “Moving,” he whispers, this time for Lou’s benefit. When Lou taps him on the shoulder, he bolts for the next patch of cover. As he hunkers behind a stack of packing crates, his heart is thumping like a jack hammer. Afghanistan, he thinks. That’s what this feels like. Days spent out in the bush with Freddie, tracking a terrorist cell. And every step of the way eyes had been watching them. Waiting._

_As Lou follows, hunkers down beside him, Steve scans the roof area again. There’s no movement up there. In fact there’s no movement at all now, except the distant shuffle of feet as his team advance across the huge open area. The cover is patchy. Packing boxes and machinery. It’s not enough._

_Hefting his rifle in his arms, Steve clicks his ear piece again. “Withdraw. I repeat, withdraw.” There’s a pause then Junior’s voice in his ear: “Copy that.”_

_There’s a hint of confusion in Junior’s voice and he gets it. They’ve been planning this raid on Chinese money launderers for weeks. Pulling out now when they’re so close is frustrating. There had been a time, back when he’d first come back to the islands, when he would have advanced. Used to fighting in arenas like North Korea and Afghanistan, he would have been determined to track down his target._

_That was a long time ago._

_‘See, you can be taught,’ a voice in his head mocks him. It’s sounds suspiciously like Danny. Quashing the pang of sadness that accompanies any thoughts of Danny, he shuffles to the edge of the packing box, ready to lay down covering fire if it’s needed. Meeting Lou’s gaze, he nods once. “Go.”_

_Hunched over, Lou’s runs for the exit. There’s a heartbeat. Maybe two. Then it happens: a single shot that reverberates around the warehouse._

_“Sniper,” Steve yells, already tracking with his rifle, searching for his target. Another shot rings out. He ducks, flinches as the bullet sheers through the wood pallet just inches from his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lou throw himself down behind an overturned table. With the angle the shots are coming down at, it’s not going to hide Lou for long. Looking at Lou’s face, he can see he knows that too. With a growing sense of urgency he bobs up to return fire. It’s a wasted effort: he dives back down as a bullet whistles past his ear._

_“Steve? You guys okay?”_

_It’s Tani’s voice in his ear. Steve can barely hear her over the returning gunfire and the sound of his own harsh breathing. “I’m pinned down,” he yells back, ducking again, as wood splinters rain down on him. “Lou’s out in the open and…”_

_Steve glances back, over his shoulder. His blood runs cold. Lou’s slumped against the table, his shotgun resting on his legs. He’s clutching his side, his face twisted with pain. Blood is seeping between his fingers._

_Shit. Shit. Shit. “Lou’s hit. Give me cover.”_

_More shots ring out from the other side of the warehouse. It’s deafening. Junior, Tani and Adam are giving it everything they’ve got. Steve takes that as confirmation they’ve heard his order and scrambles crab-like across the exposed kill zone. Bullets ping across the concrete behind him. But they’re not as accurate now._

_Throwing himself down beside Lou, he starts triage. There’s no point in asking Lou how he is: he can see the fear in his partner’s eyes. “I’m gonna get you out of here,” he promises, as he slides his hand under Lou’s Kevlar jacket. What he finds makes his heart sink even further. “Armour piercing bullets,” he raps out, tapping on his ear piece. “Proceed with caution.”_

_It sounds like a stupid instruction but he knows they’ll understand. This isn’t a goon for hire they’re facing. Whoever is up there is a professional. They came prepared to set a deadly trap. And he’s just walked his team straight into it._

_Lou coughs. It’s wet sounding. There’s fluid in his lungs. If they were on borrowed time before they’ve got even less now. They have to end this. Now. But first he has to help Lou._

_There’s no way he can take Lou’s Kevlar vest off here, to administer the emergency aid Lou needs. They need more cover. Lou’s not a small guy though. As much as he wants pick Lou up and run for the exit, it’s not going to be an option._

_Lou’s eyelids are drooping, his breathing already shallow. Steve sends up a silent prayer as he grabs the shoulder straps on Lou’s vest. Hunching over the top of Lou, head down to avoid making a target of himself, he gets ready to move. It’s going to take all the strength in his legs to generate the explosive power he’ll need. Taking a steading breath, he tests his grip one more time, then moves._

_For one heart-stopping second Lou’s a deadweight. Gritting his teeth Steve pulls, he fucking_ pulls _, and suddenly he’s scrabbling backwards, dragging Lou along the ground with him. A bullet wizzes past him but he keeps moving, using his legs like pistons to stamp out the power in his muscles. It feels like forever but finally they make it to cover again._

_There’s a moment when he thinks ‘I’ve got this’. The team – his team – will handle the shooter. And he’ll keep Lou alive long enough for the EMTs to get to them. Renee’s gonna be angry as hell with both of them – she’ll deliver a lecture that Danny Williams would be proud of – but she’ll get to tell her husband she loves him. Sam and Will won’t have to bury their Dad._

_That moment doesn’t last though. His heel slips across the concrete floor, unbalancing him. For just a second – a split second – he sticks his other leg out to right himself. It’s nothing. Just a moment. It’s enough. Another shot rings out – high and sharp over the rumble of the automatic gunfire – and excruciating pain drops him to the floor. Grey spots swim in the edges of his vision. Bile burns at the back of his throat._

_Desperate, he clings to consciousness. He’s down on the concrete. Defenceless. The last thing he sees as the pain grows, thundering towards him like a fire storm, is Lou lying unconsciousness beside him, blood pooling on the concrete around him._

Steve comes awake with a jerk. The nightmare’s still dragging along behind him, weighing him down _._ Blinking, he tries to get his bearings. To understand what woke him up. That question is quickly answered when Eddie appears beside the bed. Eddie licking his hand works better than any alarm clock. Eddie sticking his wet nose in his face works even better.

Throwing off the covers, he lowers his legs to the floor. Biting back a groan, he flexes his left leg carefully. Two surgeries, twelve weeks on crutches and months of physiotherapy – some of it still to come – have gone a long way towards repairing the damage inflicted by the sniper’s bullet. But first thing in the morning is still the worst part of the day.

Once he’s sure his leg will hold him, he stands up. _Walk normally_ the voice of his physiotherapist reminds him. With a huff he does as he’s told, lengthening his spine, resisting the urge to curl over the injured limb.

It’s almost three years since he moved out of the McGarrett family house by the beach. Some mornings he still wakes up and, on automatic pilot, expects to have to walk downstairs to the kitchen. The apartment he’s moved into doesn’t have stairs: it’s three rooms and a tiny back yard, just big enough for Eddie in an emergency. What it does still have is a view of the ocean, although to access it he has to use a public footpath and beach. The view on the other side of the building isn’t that bad either: a public park for Eddie to run in, overlooked by Diamond Head.

Slipping on boardshorts, a tee-shirt and slippahs, he heads out of the apartment. Eddie follows close behind. They have to pass through a lobby, so the days of wandering out just in shorts are gone. Most of his neighbours are elderly. They might all be fully paid-up members of the Eddie fan club but he’s not sure they’d be happy to confronted by a half-naked man wandering the corridors at the crack of dawn.

If Mary was here she’d disagree. He grins to himself as he imagines her dirty-sounding, disbelieving laugh. _‘I’m nearly fifty,’_ he’d protested the last time she’d mentioned it. _‘Forty-seven,’_ she’d shot back, ‘ _and I’m pretty sure your age isn’t an issue.’_

He’s still smiling to himself as they make it to the park and Eddie wanders off to sniff trees. Slowly, he follows behind. Eighteen months earlier Eddie had been diagnosed with arthritis in his hips. Suddenly chasing criminals together was off too. Eddie still goes to work with him every day but mostly he spends it curled up in Danny’s spot on the couch in his office.

The thought brings him to a halt. Danny’s never far from his thoughts but it’s not a surprise that today of all days he’s only been awake for ten minutes and he’s already thinking about him. The feeling of sadness he always associates now with Danny is accompanied by a sense of trepidation. Shaking his head, he tries to dismiss it. Today is a day of celebration. Whatever happens, it’ll still be that.

Calling Eddie back, they limp back home together. Back in the apartment he makes breakfast for both of them: biscuits and gravy for Eddie, granola and a kale shake for him. Opening another cupboard he retrieves their boxes of medication, carefully counting pills out for both of them.

Putting everything on a tray, he heads out to the yard. There’s barely enough space for the two of them and a bar-b-q grill but it catches the morning sun so this is where they eat their breakfast. Once they’ve finished he heads back indoors to clean up. Job done, he retreats to the small desk he’s set up in the corner of the living space. 

Opening the laptop, he logs in. It’s highly encrypted, built by Jerry to his specifications. Clicking through pages he reads the reports produced by the algorithms he has running on the laptop. The majority of the reports are from Tennessee and Georgia. Reports of serious crime. Names of perpetrators and victims. His stomach wraps itself in knots as he scans the names, hoping he won’t find any that might be familiar. 

There are other reports too: information on Igor Bykov and the Russian gang members who Stan got involved with. Stan’s evidence had put them all in prison four years earlier. None of them will be getting out soon – Igor probably not ever - but he still spends hours tracking their communications and known associates, looking for changes in behaviour - like travelling to Georgia or Tennessee.

Steve’s anxiety lessens as he finishes reading. There’s nothing to cause concern. Closing the laptop, he puts it away, ready for the next day. Rolling back his chair from the desk, he checks his watch. His heart sinks. It’s still another four hours before he needs to be anywhere.

Being benched sucks.

Watching TV isn’t an option. Neither is reading a book. Heading to the bedroom he grabs a towel. Eddie doesn’t stir from where he’s now sleeping on the bed. Leaving him there, he heads for the beach. He’s not the only one there but it’s mostly locals, regulars like him. Sharing a few nods he sheds his tee-shirt and slippahs to walk into the waves.

Twisting, he falls back into the water. Let’s it take his weight. His whole body unfurls, like a flower worshipping the sun. Closing his eyes, he floats.

Eventually the anxiety that’s eating away at him insists he moves. So he moves. Front crawl and backstroke. Alternated to give his body the workout it needs. Swimming for hours, pitting his body against the waves, is out too. The last time he’d tried that a stranger had to help him back to his apartment. The remembered embarrassment still makes him feel sick.

By the time he makes it back to the beach it’s starting to fill up. Mainly tourists but locals too, setting up tents and opening up cool boxes. Limping his way through them he retrieves his towel and tee-shirt and heads home.

Eddie’s still stretched out on the bed. He opens one eye and wags his tail half-heartedly. Then, with a loud huff, he goes back to sleep. Feeling jealous of his friend’s ability to pass out without a care in the world, Steve stretches out on the bed and tries to do the same. 

_Think good thoughts,_ he tells himself as his tired body insists on rest and starts to shut down. Panic flares – good thoughts are few and far between – then a memory pops out of his head. Dinner at Morimoto’s with Danny, just before he’d left. 

Smiling to himself, he falls asleep.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who has read and left kudos and comments so far. Real life is frantic at the moment so I haven't been able to reply to anyone but all the kudos and comments have made me feel like a million dollars. Thank you so, so much :)


	5. Steve

Steve loves Eddie. He knows Eddie loves him too. But he can’t help thinking sometimes that Eddie’s judging him.

“Don’t go all Danny Williams on me,” he hears himself saying as he weaves his truck through the midday traffic, “it’s not my fault we’re running late. You knew what the schedule was too.”

Sitting in the passenger seat, Eddie stares back at him. 

“Okay. I should have set my alarm,” he concedes, unable to face Eddie’s judgey expression any longer. “It’ll be fine. Joanie’s going to have all her friends over, she won’t even notice we’re not there.”

The mention of Joanie gets the response he was hoping for: Eddie barks. His tail thuds loudly against the seat.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve replies, smiling despite the tension in his body, “I love her too. She’s ten today, buddy. _Ten._ Can you believe that? _”_

The whine he gets in reply sums up his feelings too. Joanie’s growing up so fast. It’s difficult some days not to feel like a spectator, sitting on the side lines as everyone else gets on with their lives.

The feeling grows as he indicates left, turning into the street where his parents house is. Eddie whines again, his nose pressed against the window as they pass the familiar houses. There’s been change here too, people coming and going. The biggest change though is at the house he’s driving up to.

The driveway is already full: apparently the party is in full swing. Parking up on the road, Steve climbs out of the cab. Lifting Eddie out, he puts him down, watches as he heads up the driveway, tail wagging madly. Retrieving Joanie’s birthday present from the back seat, he follows behind.

The front fence has been decorated with balloons and bunting. In the middle of the lawn is a trampoline that wasn’t there the last time he visited. Steve grins as he goes inside. Joanie’s going to be happy. The trampoline was at the top of her birthday present list.

The front door is ajar. He pushes it open, cautiously. Even outside he can feel the excitement and energy oozing out of the building. Suddenly he feels tired again.

As soon as he steps inside he spots Eddie: Joanie and her friends are crowded around him, showering him with love. Eddie’s lapping up all the attention, licking everyone in turn, making them giggle and squeal.

Steve nods to the two women sitting on the couch, talking. Parents he guesses, moving on. All of the furniture in the living room is new – he has the old couch and recliner in his apartment – but there’s still enough of his parents in the room to trigger a wave of melancholy.

The sensation goes as soon as he steps into the kitchen. In here everything has changed. Half the wall units have been removed to make space for a breakfast bar and a child’s high chair. White walls have been covered in bright blue paint. Behind the back door now there’s a utility room joining the garage to the kitchen. Everywhere he can see shiny new gadgets. There’s even a dishwasher in there somewhere.

The reason for all the changes is the man standing by the sink, chopping up fruit. Looking over, his face splits into a huge grin. “Good timing, bruddah. She was about to call you.”

Steve puts Joanie’s present on the breakfast bar then reaches in to share a back-slapping hug with his brother-in-law. Alika is a native Hawaiian. Six foot two and 200 pounds he’s a softly-spoken wall of muscle, which he puts to good use in his job as a firefighter with the Honolulu Fire Department. 

“Had errands to run,” Steve lies as he pulls away. Having people worry about him is exhausting. “Looks like Joanie’s having fun.”

“You noticed, huh?” Alika replies dryly, his tone softened by a huge grin. “She didn’t sleep all last night. Up at six bugging us to blow up the balloons.”

Steve grins in return. When Mary had announced a week into her relationship with Alika that he was _the one;_ he’d been sceptical. Sure, part of it had been his over-protectiveness of Mary. But as the weeks had gone on and Alika had shown his love for Mary – and just as importantly how much he loved Joanie – he’d been won over. It had been one of the happiest moments of his life to give Mary away at their wedding. 

“Cold beers are out on the lanai,” Alika says, already turning his attention back to chopping the fruit. “Seats out on the beach are still empty.” He checks the clock on the wall. “Won’t be for long. My family is due soon and you know how that goes.”

Steve does. Alika’s extended family runs to over forty people. They won’t all be there but they love to fill a room with aloha, to have a real party. Talking of family: “Did Adam call you?”

“Last night. Your team sent their apologies. Said they’d pulled a case.” Wiping his hands, he puts the fruit into a bowl. “Told them to come over Wednesday night if they’re free. We’re gonna have enough food left to feed an army.” As if to illustrate the point he takes the fruit bowl to the fridge and opens it.

Steve whistles under his breath. The fridge is straining at the seams. “Do you want some help with the food? I can grill some of that steak and—”

“Beer. Beach.” 

“Just tell me what you need and…”

Alika raises a hand to stop him. His expression turns serious. “C’mon, man. I know you miss that beach. Go enjoy it while it’s still quiet.”

“I can fire up the grill—”

“Mary’s upstairs changing Kalei. She’s gonna be down in a minute. Do you want to tell her why you’re still standing here instead of drinking a Longboard in your favourite spot?”

The chuckle he’s been fighting to hold in escapes. “Hey, low blow.”

“Just telling it how it is…” A floor board creeks above them. Alika’s eyes meet his. They’re brimming with laughter. “Run, bruddah. Run.”

Running isn’t part of his skill set right now but he takes the hint. A quick scan of the living room confirms Eddie has made his escape. Not worried about where he’s at – he’ll reappear once the steak is ready – he navigates his way around Joanie’s friends.

He’s out on the lanai, getting a beer, when Joanie comes running out to find him. He just has time to brace himself before Joanie’s wrapping her arms around his legs and chattering like mad about her birthday, her presents, how much she loves him and a million and one other things.

He’s trying to get a word in – not easy, she takes after her Mom – when Mary appears. Instantly Joanie’s brain switches tracks and, pausing long enough to stand on tiptoes to give him a kiss, she runs away to see her friends.

“Relentless,” Mary laughs into the vacuum that Joanie’s departure has left behind. “I don’t know where she gets it from.”

There’s several retorts that come to mind but he’s distracted - by the baby Mary’s holding in her arms. Little Kalei. Now almost a year old, Mary and Alika adopted him at three months old. With a full head of dark hair that’s sticking out all ways and a huge toothy grin, he charms everyone he meets. His Uncle Steve is no exception.

“You can hold him if you get a beer first,” Mary tells him, taking a step back as automatically reaches out to take Kalei. “You look awful by the way.”

Steve wants to argue but he looked in the mirror before he left home. Retrieving a beer from a cool box, he heads for the beach, Mary walking beside him. She, in comparison, looks amazing. It’s not the way she’s dressed: he’s pretty sure that’s a baby sick stain on her t-shirt. It’s the vibes she’s giving off. His little sister is finally at peace with herself. 

For that alone, he will never be able to thank Alika enough.

A moment later, he has something else to thank Alika for. There’s a reason the two chairs by the beach are empty. They’ve been cordoned off with tape – bright yellow with Honolulu Fire Department written on it. There’s a note tied to the tape, written in a 10 year old’s handwriting, and he huffs with laughter as he reads it: ‘Keep off. Property of Uncle Steve.’

“Guess I better sit here then,” he concedes. Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, he takes his seat. Stretching out his legs, he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Better?”

Not wanting to break the moment, he hums his agreement. The noise level in the house behind him is slowly rising. Out here, on the beach, it’s still surprisingly quiet.

“Here, take him,” Mary says, much too soon. “I’ve got something for you.”

Opening his eyes he takes Kalei. Lifting him up to the sky, he pulls a silly face. Kalei replies with a drooly grin that strikes straight to the centre of his heart.

“I’ve got something for you.”

Instantly, Steve sobers. Settling little Kalei on his lap, he takes the envelope that Mary’s offering him. This is what’s had him in knots for weeks. Relief wares with fear as he turns it over and checks the post mark.

Georgia.

Every year, since Danny left, Joanie’s received a gift of thirty dollars in the mail, around her birthday. There’s never a note in it. The handwriting’s different every time. They’ve come from Georgia, Tennessee and South Carolina. 

“Hey. Steve. Breathe.”

Rubbing his hand over his face, he tries to follow Mary’s instructions.

“It came this morning,” Mary explains, reaching over to slide a squirming Kalei onto her lap. She hesitates. “You might want to check inside.”

Lowering his hand, Steve lets the confusion he’s feeling show on his face. This is different: usually it’s only the money, nothing else. Reaching into the envelope with his thumb and forefinger, he pulls out the piece of paper inside. Confusion growing, he flips it over and reads both sides. “Things to do in the Blue Ridge Mountains?”

“Don’t you get it?”

Mary sounds excited. Frowning, he reads it again. It’s a list of a dozen or so tourist attractions in Georgia. On the back there’s a very basic map, showing where everything is.

Huffing with impatience, she reaches over to tap the leaflet. “There are addresses on here. He’s giving you clues where he is. It’s an invitation.”

“He can’t do that.” Steve swallows, tries to soften his high-pitched tone. “It’s dangerous.”

“Do you honestly think he would have sent it if that was true?”

From the moment he pulled out the leaflet his thoughts have splinted in a hundred different directions. One thought breaks to the surface, insisting to be heard. “What if he didn’t send it?”

Mary shrugs. Her good mood visibly evaporating, she turns her attention to Kalei. Gently, she smooths down his hair. “I thought you’d be happy.”

His mind is still whirring. The look on her face is killing him. But what he’s holding in his hand, it goes against everything he’s worked so hard to maintain for five long years. “It’s a surprise, is all.”

“What’s a surprise?”

Turning, they find Lou walking up behind them. 

Instantly, Mary’s on her feet. “You’re looking better today.” Smiling, she reaches up to kiss Lou on the cheek. “Please tell me Renee’s with you? Not that I’m not happy to see you and all but—

Lou cuts her off with an expansive shrug. “Happens all the time. I can’t think why.”

Grinning, she hands over Kalei. “Talk to him for me while I go ask Renee if you’re allowed a beer.” 

Steve watches as Lou gets comfortable on the other chair. Not so long ago Lou would have grumbled about Renee controlling his food or alcohol intake. They both know how close he came to dying in that warehouse though. How the EMTs made it just in time. So now they don’t talk about it.

Retrieving his beer, he takes a deep drink. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he says instead.

“Renee and me, we’re climbing up the walls,” Lou confesses, tilting his head so Kalei can tug on his ear. “I don’t think I’m the only who’s happy to be going back to work next week, even if it is just desk duty.”

Steve takes another drink. Jealously is threatening to creep up on him. Annoyed, he quashes it, hard. After Danny left, Lou had stepped up and become his partner. He’s ashamed to admit that there had been days when he hadn’t made it easy for his friend. Lou, the stubborn old goat, had never given up on him. But now Lou’s never going to be back out on the streets again – Lou and Renee’s decision, not the medics – so when he, Steve, makes it back on duty it’ll be all change again. And he’s not sure he can go through that again. 

“What have I got to talk to you about?”

Steve blinks back to the present. He finds himself being watched. Mary’s right, Lou does look better. Weight-wise, he’s still got a few pounds to put back on. Compared to what he looked like after a week in the ICU, he’s a picture of health. Sending up a prayer of thanks – not the first one – he hands over the envelope. “It came.” He waves the leaflet. “This was inside.”

Lou studies the leaflet without taking it. Kalei’s making grabby hands, promising destruction to anything he gets hold of. When Lou raises an eyebrow, Steve flips the leaflet so he can read the other side.

The relief on Lou’s face is obvious. It doesn’t last long: as always he’s quick to get to the point. “That’s good, right?” 

Rolling the beer bottle between his palms, Steve considers that. “I guess.”

“So now you got to decide. Are you going to stay or are you going to go.” 

Habit makes him shake his head. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Exasperated, he almost loses his grip on his beer bottle. “You know why.”

Lou acknowledges the truth of that with a bob of his head. He’s distracted for a moment as Kalei makes a grab for his nose, nearly poking him in the eye. He laughs, tickles Kalei which gets him a giggle. Then he’s back on the case again, stubborn as a dog with a bone. “Danny obviously thinks you can.”

Steve slumps down in his chair and stares at the waves. “That’s what Mary said.”

“She’s a wise woman, your sister.”

“Yeah.” 

There’s a pause.

“I hear Georgia’s real nice this time of year. You know. For a vacation.”

There’s another pause. A longer one.

“I’m gonna go find that beer.”

Lou leaves, Kalei balanced on his hip. Drinking deeply on his beer, Steve watches them go. Then he turns his attention back to the leaflet.

Twelve tourist attractions. Spread across a wide geographical area. Difficult to find someone but not impossible. Especially when you helped them disappear. And they’re looking for you. They’ve _invited_ you.

There’s a flutter deep in his belly. Hope mixed with fear. Mental barriers that have taken years to erect, to help him subdue his feelings for Danny, are threatening to break. _Not an option,_ he reminds himself. Listen to your head, not your heart.

He’s thinking with his head as he carefully puts the leaflet back in the envelope. But as he gets up, his gaze falls on the empty seat beside him and it’s his heart that aches with loss.

H50H50H50

Alika’s right, his family knows how to party. The celebration continues long after Joanie’s friends have gone home. It’s dark outside by the time they decide to leave.

Steve stands with Mary and Alika on the front porch, waving everyone off. As the last set of car rear lights disappear into the distance, they slump in unison.

“You look tired,” Mary says, raising her eyebrows in his direction.

“It was a great party,” he replies, a weak attempt at misdirection. Spending time with Alika’s family, it’s easy to see where his brother-in-law’s empathic nature and positive energy comes from. There are a myriad of emotions still chasing around in his brain. Uppermost though he feels loved. And full. Alika’s family love to cook and eat.

“I’d offer to let you stay but we’ve only got the couch.”

Steve waves away Mary’s offer. His leg’s aching like mad. “I’m good. I need to go anyway. Eddie needs feeding—”

“That’s the last thing he needs,” Alika laughs.

Steve follows where he’s looking, into the living room. Eddie is stretched out on the living room floor, snoring loudly. His belly is huge. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Great. That means you’ve got time for coffee.”

He glances over at Mary, to decline her offer. He’s just in time to catch his sister giving him a look that sends warning bells off in his head. Not the type that signal the Russians have parked a submarine off Waikiki beach. It’s worse than that – his sister wants to _talk._

Stomping off into the night with Eddie seems ungrateful when they’ve had such a good day. And there is small part of him that needs to talk. Not over coffee though. “You got anything stronger to drink?”

A few minutes later and he’s sitting on – being consumed by – a well-cushioned chair, a huge contrast to the old leather recliner in his apartment. The couch Mary’s sitting on isn’t short of cushions either. Alika appears from the kitchen with two glasses of whiskey and a coffee. Steve’s expecting to be having the conversation only with Mary so he’s surprised with Alika takes the seat next to Mary. 

Mary’s cuts straight to the chase. “I told Ali about Danny.”

Steve lowers his glass. Anger flares. “I thought you understood, Mary. It’s supposed to be a secret. I only told you because of the birthday messages to Joanie.”

Mary is drinking the coffee. It sloshes in the mug as she grips it tighter. “No. You only told me because I made you, remember? You were scaring the hell out of me, Steve, after Danny left. You were scaring the hell out of everyone. You didn’t actually tell me about the messages until after our wedding, when you gave us the house.”

It’s a painful truth. He hadn’t handled things well. Sipping at the whiskey, he throws Alika an apologetic look. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…It’s just the less people who know, the safer everyone is.”

Alika nods. Short. Sharp. He understands.

Steve gulps down a mouthful of whiskey, blinks away the initial burn. “Nothing’s changed, okay,” he insists, as much to himself as to Mary and Alika. “It’s Joanie’s birthday. We got the message. Danny’s okay. End of story.”

He’s not expecting his statement to mollify Mary and it doesn’t: she’s had longer to think about this than him. “Do you remember when we were spying on my neighbour,” she says, throwing Alika an apologetic glance which promises she’ll explain it all to him later. “You remember when I told you I was back dating? You said I was braver than you. Remember?”

He smiles faintly at the memory. They’d made a good team that day. “Yeah.”

“Do you know why I was braver?”

“I don’t see—”

“I always knew no matter what happened, you’d always be there to catch me.”

Steve blinks rapidly. This time it’s got nothing to do with the whiskey.

“What I’m saying,” Mary continues, “is that you should go and try and find him. If it doesn’t work we’ll still be here, waiting for you.“

Steve looks away. Her words are hitting way too close to home, picking away at old hurts. “I’m not going. I’ve got responsibilities. Five-0. My ohana. I can’t just walk away, Mary.” 

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her expression turns serious. Apologetic. “Did Danny ask you to go with him?”

The warning bells in his head are almost deafening. His instincts are telling him to get out. He puts his whiskey glass down on the table. “We’re not talking about this—"

Her expression turns incredibly sad. “So he asked you and I’m guessing you said no because of me.”

The exit route to the front door is blocked by the couch Mary and Alika are sitting on. Defending borders is the only option left. Clamping his lips together his crosses his arms.

“What’s the harm in trying to find him? You can still do all that secret spy ninja stuff you taught Danny, can’t you?”

Straightening his spine, he looks down his nose at her. “People might still be looking for him.”

“Not according to those reports you’re getting every day.”

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously. “How did you know about those?”

“I didn’t. I guessed.”

Torn between laughing and yelling he huffs instead. Uncrossing his arms, he slumps back into the cushions. Arguing with Mary has always been a pointless exercise. They know each other too well. 

Chewing at his bottom lip, he tries to get his thoughts into some sort of order. “It’s been five years. Danny’s going to have a new life by now. He’s going to have a family and kids. I can’t go and upset that life.” It’s the thing he imagines. Danny has to be happy: it’s what makes everything about this situation bearable. When the loneliness threatens to get too much.

Understanding dawns on Mary’s face. She regards her coffee mug with disgust. “God, I need something stronger.”

Steve watches with a heavy heart as she disappears into the kitchen. How had Danny managed this? Telling his mother and father and his sisters that they might never see each other again? So far he’s only discussed this with Mary and Alika and the guilt is threatening to crush him.

“You’re not going to be able come back are you? Well, at least not for a while.”

Heart-sinking, he looks Alika in the eye. “Probably not but like I said, I can’t go anyway—"

“I’ll look after them for you. _We’ll_ look after them. Your ohana.” Alika’s voice is soft but the note of determination running through it is hard as steel.

“I’m not going—"

“ _If_ you go, you have to promise me one thing.” Alika’s voice has hardened: a note of challenge has crept in, a fierceness demanding to be heard.

Steve sits up. Pays attention. “Anything.”

“She needs to know you’re safe. You understand me?”

There’s only one way to respond. He holds out his hand. When Alika takes it he grips it, hard. A pact is made. Unbreakable. “I understand.”

They’re both just sitting back when Mary reappears. She’s holding a glass, with just a dash of whiskey in it. “We’ll move Joanie in with us tonight,” she announces, taking her seat again. “Her bed is going to be a tight fit for you.” She gestures at his almost empty glass. “Have a few more of those. You won’t notice.”

Steve’s beyond arguing. The whiskey is starting to kick in. It’s making him feel melancholy. The idea of going back to his apartment alone isn’t an attractive one. Eddie is still quietly snoring in the corner.

Silence falls, each of them lost in their thoughts. 

“What if Danny is in trouble?” The words have slipped out of their own accord.

Alika and Mary share a look. Mary raises her eyebrows. “You think ‘Come try Bob’s Famous Peanuts’ is a cry for help?”

Steve can’t remember all the details of the tourist attractions on the leaflet but he does have a vague memory of someone dressed as a giant peanut in one of the pictures. “Maybe.”

Mary looks incredulous. “Please tell me you had a better plan for a real emergency.”

Steve nods, keeping it simple. Now doesn’t seem the right time to explain about the burner phone he’s been carrying around for five years. The one that only Danny has the number for. He frowns, running that thought back through his head. The phone _hasn’t_ rung. He hasn’t received any messages. Danny must be okay. He _must be._

Slumping back into his chair, he runs his hand over his face. Maybe that’s wishful thinking? Tipping his head back, he closes his eyes. Mary’s right. He needs to sleep. 

“Tell me the truth, Steve. What do you want?”

Mary’s spoken so quietly, he can barely hear her. Eyes still closed, he contemplates her question. It doesn’t take much thought: from the moment he pulled the leaflet out of the envelope he’s known what he wants. “I want to go to Georgia.”

TBC


	6. Steve

Steve’s slept outside in the wild in many countries. Mostly overseas. The rules are the same wherever you are; you need shelter, food and water.

Landing at Columbus airport in Georgia, he walks for half an hour to a storage unit in a local industrial area. Finding the right unit he pulls out his phone to check the code that that was sent to him during his last flight. There’s a keypad next to the door of the unit. Punching it in opens the roller door to reveal a small camper van. Walking to the back of the van he kneels down, runs his fingers under the rear wheel arch. There’s a compartment soldered to it: sticking his thumb and forefinger in, he draws out a large packet wrapped in plastic packaging..

Unwrapping it, he pulls out the key for the van and a stack of passports and driving licences. Reaching into the front pocket of the backpack he’s carrying, he pulls out a passport and driving licence. Swapping them with a set from the new stash, he puts everything else back into the plastic packaging and slots it back under the van

Leaning back on his heels, he flicks open his new passport. It had taken him four flights to get here, weaving across the mainland as meanwhile back in Hawaii Lou and Jerry tracked his progress, checking for tails. For the flight out of Hawaii, he was Steve McGarrett. During a bus trip from LAX to San Francisco, he’d become Henry Carlisle. Now, according to this new passport, he’s Jeremy Ward, born in Wyoming. Memorising the details, he tucks the new passport and driving licence in his backpack.

Levering himself to his feet, he groans. Any sleep he’s had during the last three days has been in airport departure lounges. He groans again as he slides the side door to open the van. In the rear, there’s a mattress and bedding, a camping cooker, water and food. It’s cramped - the mattress is too short to accommodate his height - but the temptation to lie down and sleep is still huge.

Throwing his backpack on the mattress, he slides the door shut again and climbs into the driving seat. Reaching under the driver’s seat, he finds a SIG Sauger 226 with spare clips. Once he’s satisfied it’s serviceable he tucks it back under the seat, within hand’s reach if needed. 

Putting the key in the ignition, he switches on engine and lets it run. There’s a well-worn map book on the passenger seat, plus a travel guide to Georgia. Throwing both on the dashboard – adopting the role of a visitor on vacation – he carefully pulls out of the lockup unit. Stopping long enough to put the door down on the lockup unit, he drives out onto the main highway.

The miles pass.

Referring to the map book isn’t necessary. It all comes back to him in a rush. He studied these routes with Danny, five years earlier. Cities and towns that had just been names on a computer back in Hawaii flash past. Sitting together in his dining room, they’d dismissed them as unlikely to be the hiding place chosen for Stan by the US Marshalls. And it looks like he was right: the first town on the leaflet he received is over 250 miles away.

There’s a reason for using the camper van; camping, rather than using a hotel, makes him less easy to trace. Danny had done the same thing. He snorts at the memory of Danny’s initial reaction to the idea of camping in the wilderness. Using a camper van had been a compromise.

Five years ago, he would have camped out in the wilds. Now, he acknowledges grudgingly, his body needs more comfort. Still, the camping ground he chooses for his first night is basic and almost empty. Having registered – cash, not credit card – he parks up at the most remote spot he can find.

Getting water, warming up coffee and rations, it takes no time. Stretching out on the mattress, he starts to eat. With the side door open, he can see the stars and mountains. The constellations might have different names in Hawaiian culture but wherever he is in the world, he’s always found comfort in the constancy of the stars. 

After all the travelling, it’s a huge relief to just _stop._ For a while, he can hear the soft murmur of other campers talking. As darkness falls, their voices fall away. The breeze picks up, rustling through the leaves in a comforting rhythm.

He can’t remember the last time he did this, he suddenly realises. Not as a vacation, at least.

Looking down, he finds his bowl is empty. His coffee is luke warm. Swallowing the dregs, he climbs back out of the van and rinses everything out. Once he’s used the campsite facilities to relieve himself, he settles back in the van and retrieves his laptop from his rucksack.

This isn’t a vacation, he reminds himself. It’s not that he’s forgotten. He’s very aware he’s covering the same ground Danny did; anticipation combined with dread mean he’s feeling permanently on edge. 

Shaking his head, he switches on the laptop. The interior of the van illuminates with a soft glow as it boots up. Logging on, he works his way through several pages on encryption. Eventually he makes it into the mail account he’s set up for the trip.

Back in Hawaii, Jerry and Lou are still tracking his movements. Five years ago, he’d done the same for Danny. Tomorrow he will go dark – the same way Danny did – and he’ll be on his own.

Swallowing hard, he quashes the memory of that moment five years previously when Danny had blipped out of existence. The moment his world had changed forever. Instead, he concentrates on the report from Jerry. Everything looks clean. If anyone’s following him then he’ll just have to deal with it when it happens.

Whatever happens, he won’t let anyone get to Danny, Charlie or Grace.

Typing out a few words of pre-approved code to Lou, he hits send. Logging off again, he puts the laptop away. Stripping down to his underwear, he slips under the duvet. Plumping up his pillows, he checks the handgun is within reach. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he wills himself to sleep.

Tomorrow is going to be another day of driving. Of starting to try to find Danny. He’s tracked terrorists across the world but he’s never felt so unsure of himself – or his skills. 

Hell, he’s been on top-secret missions that he’s felt less nervous about.

H50H50H50

Standing naked on the edge of the mountain lake, Steve eyes the water warily. The sun’s just risen. The blue of the sky, the green of the trees; it’s so pure, so bright. The top of the lake is still, acting like a mirror. The picture perfect landscape is also very deceiving. It’s early September and he’s not in Hawaii; he’s got goose bumps from the cold.

Taking a deep breath, he dives in.

Years of training mean his body knows how to respond to the shock of the ice-cold water. His brain processes. Deals. Instructs his lungs to keep working. Clears his mind so he can focus on one thing: survival.

Kicking upwards, he breaks the surface. Gasping, he drags in a lungful of air.

His first 10 days in Georgia have been a challenge. Frustration and doubt have crept in. Worse, he’d forgotten the games the brain plays in isolation.

Back in the Navy, locking things down used to be second nature. Thirteen years in Hawaii have changed him. It was, like many things in his life, Danny’s fault. Danny with his constant touching, and his concern, and eyes so expressive he couldn’t hide anything.

Danny made him _feel_ things.

Regrets are something he has stacks of. Meeting Danny isn’t one of them. But this trip has unearthed others. Leaving Freddie behind. Not being able to save his Dad. Every night his mind has replayed those moments. Vivid and real.

After a few days, staying at a camping ground was no longer an option. The nightmares meant he was drawing attention to himself. Retreating up into the mountains to find solitude had been a deep-set instinctive reaction. It hasn’t made nightmares any easier. But at least he can lick his wounds in peace.

Striding out of the water, Steve grabs a towel and scrubs his skin dry. Running his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down, he grimaces. His aching leg is missing the warmth of Hawaii. Quickly he pulls on his clothes and limps back to his camper van. 

Far off in the distance he can hear the rumble of cars and trucks passing. People out there are starting their day. Stowing everything away in the back of the van, he gets in and starts the engine. As he carefully manoeuvres it down the rough dirt track he’d discovered the night before, he checks the time.

The next town he wants to check out, Coalsville, is a twenty-minute drive away. Finding breakfast will be his first priority. Then he’ll hit a few stores and businesses and start sniffing around.

The town, when it appears, looks much like the others he’s already checked out; restaurants, antique stores, boutiques and art galleries. There’s money here, mainly from people visiting on vacation or choosing to retire in the picturesque mountains. As he cruises down the main street, he passes a sign to Bob’s Giant Peanuts store. Bob’s beaming image – he’s assuming its Bob - is identical to the one in the leaflet. Making a mental note to check it out as soon as he’s eaten, he circles round once more and finds somewhere to park.

It’s as he’s getting out of the van that he realises he’s being watched. 

Keeping his movements relaxed, he slides the side door open: the gun is still under his pillow. Reaching in, he pulls out his rucksack and turns to scan the area. He’s parked up behind the main street, out near the loading areas of the stores. It’s still early. He’s the only person there. A quick scan of the roofline doesn’t reveal anything either. All of the roofs are flat, offering no cover for anyone looking down.

Opening the rucksack, he pretends to look for something inside. With a slight of hand, he transfers the gun to the bottom of the rucksack. The placing of it isn’t ideal but if he’s caught with it he’ll be looking at a licence violation. He’ll no longer be off the radar.

The sensation follows him as he locks up the van and walks back to the main street; it's like an itch between his shoulder blades. He's heading for the local diner: _Belle and Jerry’s._ Coming to a halt outside, he scans the area again. The only person looking suspicious, he realises, is him, blocking the door to the diner. 

He’s hit by cooking smells as he pushes open the door. There are a dozen booths. Only two are occupied. With his mouth watering, he chooses a booth at the back of the diner. With a wall at his back, a window on one side, and the kitchen gallery on the other side, he has a clear view of all the other patrons. All the staff too.

Quickly scanning the menu, he raises his eyebrows at the choices. Seeing biscuits and gravy on the menu no longer surprises him but whoever owns _Belle and Jerry’s_ is a pancake connoisseur. It’s been a while since he's had good pancakes: nostalgia makes him choose pancakes, eggs and bacon with a large, black coffee.

Dragging his rucksack up from the floor, he pulls out the laptop. Setting it up on the table, he switches it on. As he waits for it to boot up, he checks out the diner again. The feeling of being watched has disappeared now he’s indoors. Filing that information away, he logs on.

Sipping at his coffee, he checks through the list of businesses in Coalsville. The night before he’d picked out a few he was interested in. He’s not only looking for Danny, he’s looking for Stan too. So that means financial advisers, banks and real estate realtors. For Danny, he’s been investigating law enforcement and security. Diners and restaurants too. It is not a co-incidence he’s here. He’s already done his homework on this place too.

This diner has been in the same family for three generations. Currently it’s owned by Kate Mackenzie. She’s the only person listed on the ownership papers. Everyone else on the payroll appears to be casual staff.

Sitting back, he rubs at his eyes. It’s all a stab in the dark of course, he’s only guessing. But he _knows_ Danny. And that means Danny will either be protecting the place where Charlie and Grace live. Or he’ll be feeding people. Making them feel good through food.

Or at least that’s what he’s always imagined. In the dark, in the early hours of the morning, when the loneliness is threatening to swamp him, it’s what he tells himself - that what he’s feeling is worth it because Danny’s out there somewhere living his best life.

“Here you go.”

Meryl, his server, has arrived with his order. The food smells delicious. Taking his first bite of pancakes, he hums his appreciation: it tastes delicious too. Piling up his fork, he carries on scrolling through the information.

He’s nearly finished reading when the front door opens and closes. A police officer is standing in the doorway – and he’s staring straight at him. Swallowing his mouthful of food, he turns off the screen on the laptop. Shifting his scrambled eggs around his plate, he keeps him head down until the officer comes to a halt next to his table. Maintaining the character of a tourist, he makes sure he looks surprised when he looks up. 

The officer is young, pale, blonde and fresh-faced, mid-twenties at most. He’s wearing a pair of shades that wouldn’t look out of place on Tom Cruise in Top Gun. Something about the police officer is making him bristle: maybe it’s the shades, he’s not sure. Swallowing down his annoyance, he tells himself to stand down and smile. Back in Hawaii, he’d be the one in charge. Here, he’s just another tourist. And this officer clearly has something on his mind.

As the officer studies him, Steve’s suddenly very aware of the picture he’s presenting. His hair is sticking up, from where he’s driven with the window down to dry it. Shaving hasn’t been high on his list of things to do either. If first impressions really do count for something, he’s got work to do.

“Morning.” He grins, with just the right amount of friendly, quizzical confusion. “Is something wrong…” he checks the man’s name badge, “Officer Petersen?”

When Officer Petersen slides off his shades, tucks them carefully into his top pocket, his anxiety level drops. There’s genuine friendliness in the young man’s eyes. “Nothing wrong at all,” Petersen explains, with a hint of apology. “We’re checking all out of state vehicles. Is that your camper van parked out back?”

Vehicles _and_ their occupants, Steve finishes for him silently. “You looking for someone?”

“Routine enquiries,” Petersen replies, not illuminating the situation at all. “Can I ask what your plans are while you’re here?”

 _No,_ is his first thought. This guy has no right to ask him for this information. But he – Steve – is here for information too. “I’m looking to buy some land.” Widening his grin, he taps his chest. “John Miller. I travelled down from New York. Always wanted to build my own cabin. Figured here would be a good place to start.”

Petersen nods, taking the information in. Judging by his reaction, it’s a story he’s heard before. “The van is yours?”

“Yup.” Gesturing back at the van, he smiles again, all teeth. “Should I get my papers? 

”You’re good.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He paid a lot for his false IDs but he’s not in a hurry to test them. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

When Petersen thanks him for his time, signalling the end of the conversation, he holds his smile. They’ve already drawn the attention of everyone else in the diner. Meryl is surreptitiously looking too. Once the officer has left, he raises his empty coffee mug and waggles it at her, indicating he’d like a refill. 

“That was kinda strange,” he says as Meryl comes over to his table, adding a hint of nervousness to his voice, which he hopes will gain her sympathy.

“Police have been spooked all week,” she replies, taking the bait. Filling up his mug, she shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing ever happens here.”

Drinking his second coffee and with the laptop back on, Steve discovers she’s telling the truth. Most of the income for the town comes from tourists, folks escaping from the city and looking to commune with nature. Rock-climbing, hiking and kayaking, there are chances to do it all. It feels a long way from Honolulu, from the type of cases he deals with every day.

It’s hard to imagine Danny could settle here, he thinks, as he finishes up his breakfast. Danny was always such a tightly wound bundle of energy. Where would all that energy go?

 _Concentrate_ , Steve berates himself, as he closes down the laptop and puts it back in the rucksack. The police officer spoke to him for a reason. It may or may not have something to do with Danny, or the people who were after Stan. Either way, he has to check in with Lou, and now.

A telephone conversation with Lou won’t be possible in the diner though. Everyone’s still pretending not to watch him. It’ll have to be in the van. Getting up, he slings his rucksack over his shoulder and heads for the server’s desk, where Meryl is waiting. 

Writing out his tab, she smiles up at him. “How was everything for you today?”

“Delicious. Been a while since I’ve had pancakes that good.”

Her smile turns proud. “Speciality of the house. Won’t find better in town.”

Steve pauses from fishing around in his wallet. She’s just given him an opening he can’t pass up on. He glances towards the kitchen. “Not surprised.” Handing over the cash, he gives her a winning smile. “Any chance I could thank the cook personally? They were very good,” he adds as her expression turns doubtful. “It’ll just take a minute…”

“I don’t know…”

She trails off and he can guess what she’s thinking: _weirdo._ Not for the first time during this trip he wishes he had a police badge he could whip out to speed things along. Instead, he shrugs good- naturedly, putting a few extra dollars into the tip jar before slipping his wallet back in his pocket. “I know I sound like a weirdo,” he tells her, noticing how her cheeks flush, “but I had this buddy who went travelling a few years ago. He was a chef. Short-order. Heard he might have ended up here. Daniel Andrews. The name ring a bell?”

Meryl pushes the till closed. “Don’t think so,” she says, not meeting his eyes. “Let me go ask out back, okay?”

It takes all his self-control not to leap over the counter and go check out back himself. “Sure. Thanks.” 

As Meryl disappears into the kitchen, the door swinging closed behind her, he reminds himself to breathe. There’s a small window in the kitchen door. Shifting to get a better view, he watches Meryl talking to another woman. Squashing his disappointment – she’s not male, blonde, a five-foot six bundle of muscle and attitude – he mentally takes notes: female, late-thirties, pale skinned, with short wavy red hair. As if sensing his interest, she stares straight at him. Lowering his eyes, he feigns disinterest. If these people do actually know Danny, if he’s taken them into his confidence, they are going to be wary of strangers. The last thing he wants to do is scare them off.

The door swings open again as Meryl reappears. There’s a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “You coming back later? I can ask around.”

Steve smiles. Gives himself a second to reply. He’s so used to outright rejection, he wasn’t expecting this. “Really? That’d be great. I’ll be here.”

He tries to keep his demeanor calm as he heads back outside. Assuming that Danny is actually expecting to be found he’s been trying out Danny’s aliases in the all the places he’s visited, in the hope that word will get back to him. Similar attempts in other towns had been meet with blank faces. This could be the breakthrough he’s waiting for. 

Keeping his excitement under wraps is difficult. As he turns off the main street he’s already walking faster, the ache in his injured leg forgotten. He’s rapidly re-planning his day – call Lou, revaluate which businesses to visit, go back to the diner for dinner – as he turns again, into the parking lot.

His camper van isn’t the only vehicle parked there now. There’s a police cruiser next to it. Parked in the other corner of the lot is a truck, similar to his truck back home. Standing in front of it are three men. They are dressed alike: padded jackets, checked shirts, battered jeans, work boots, and with dirt covered baseball caps pulled over their eyes. In front of them is Officer Petersen: their truck has out of state plates.

Steve watches them warily as he unlocks his van and puts the rucksack in the back. With their caps pulled over their faces, and with the sun behind them, he can’t check if he knows them. Logically, there’s no reason why he should. The chances he’s been followed are slim. But something’s making him uneasy.

Straightening up, he pays more attention to the scene unfolding in the corner of the parking lot. Even from this distance the men are giving off vibes that put his instincts on full alert. One of them glances over at him and he knows he’s not imagining it. He can see the hard edge to their expressions, the way they’re barely tolerating the officer’s presence. Worse, they are carrying concealed weapons. Bulges under their shirts that shouldn’t be there: he’s sure he’s not imagining it.

Walking into a situation like this, it’s a fine balancing act. There’s a chance they’ll walk away and take their anger somewhere else. But as he watches, one of the men takes a step forward. Petersen takes a surprised step back. His smile falters - the first sign he’s catching on something’s wrong – but it’s too late: the three men have already sensed his weakness.

Steve grabs his gun from the bottom of his rucksack, flicking off the safety. Stuffing it in his waistband, sliding it against the curve of his spine, he pulls down his shirt then retrieves the map book from the dashboard. Shutting the van, he flips open the map book, folding it back to a random page. Tucking it under his arm, he starts walking across the parking lot. Hitching his hip, he makes sure he emphasises his limp.

Three pairs of eyes instantly zero in on him. Pulling out the map book he pretends to read it, running his fingers through his hair in confusion. As he finally makes it – and hell, it felt like the longest walk ever – he looks up and smiles.

“I need to get to…” He pretends to refer to the map, even though he’s memorised it, “High Canyon Drive. I asked back in the diner but I’ve checked the map I don’t think I heard right and—”

“Get out of here.”

Steve looks straight into the eyes of the man who’s spoken – the tallest of the three of them. He doesn’t recognise the man’s face but he’s still familiar to him: this man has seen combat, is no stranger to violence. Steve smiles. Slowly. With intent. “I will, once I know where I’m going.”

The three men stand up straighter. Beside him, Officer Petersen is watching him, clearly aware now that something’s happening – his hand is inching towards his gun. So is one of the men’s.

Steve throws himself sideways, knocking Petersen off balance. Petersen stumbles, which means the bullet that’s just been fired at him hits him in the arm instead of the head. He goes down with a groan of pain, his own gun falling out of his hand. 

“Call it in,” Steve yells as he punches the man with the gun, then follows up with a knee to the groin. Before the first man hits the ground he’s already spinning to engage the other hostiles. In close-quarters he manages to pull his gun out but not to aim it. He fires anyway. The muzzle flash temporarily blinds him but it hits the man in the leg, taking him down, giving him a split second of breathing space. The men are trained – hints of ju-jitsu and wing chun showing in their moves – and it’s taking everything he has to keep ahead of them.

In the background he’s vaguely aware of Officer Petersen calling for backup. Digging deep, he pulls on the last of his energy to keep them both safe. Managing to take out the second man with an elbow to the face, he turns his attention to the last man.

One-on-one things don’t get easier. If anything, it’s getting worse. His bad leg is threatening to fold under him. His lungs are straining to get in enough air. He’s taking hits that make his head ring, that rattle his brain in his skull. Detaching his mind from his body, like he’s been taught, helps but he’s tired and out of practice. That’s why, he’ll tell himself later, he makes the mistake of glancing over to find Officer Petersen, to check he’s okay.

It nearly costs him his life.

Over the sound of his own labored breathing, he can hear a truck approaching. No sirens. In this situation, it’s not unusual. But then the truck’s engine roars into life and speeds towards them, a blur of colour out of the corner of his eye. 

He’s diving out of the way when it hits him, tossing him onto the hood. The momentum of the truck keeps him moving, smacking him against the windshield and up over the roof. Pain shoots through his shoulder, lancing down his sternum and ribs. Helpless, he’s tossed into the air. Blue sky fills his vision, as he tumbles. Then he hits the tarmac. Hard.

Time blanks out. 

Pain is what brings him to life again. Brutally. Totally. Someone’s touching him and fuck it _hurts._ Gritting his teeth to hold back a scream, he fights to get his eyes open. Gradually the greyness swimming in his vision clears.

Officer Petersen is bending over him. Fresh blood is staining the sleeve of his blue uniform shirt and there’s a scrape along his chin. Eyes wide with fear, he’s talking rapidly. 

Steve shakes his head; he can’t hear him. Swallowing hard to delay threatening nausea, he forces his mouth to work. “Cuff them.”

He can’t tell if he’s actually spoken, but Officer Petersen disappears out of his view, so he takes that as a good sign. From experience, he knows the best thing he can do now is keep breathing. His brain and heart need oxygen. Oxygen helps to manage the pain too. 

A quick inventory of his body doesn’t fill him with confidence. Chest, shoulder, ribs and head all hurt. Worse, there’s a new pain in his already injured leg. 

He gets no more time to think about it. Petersen is back and he’s prodding again, trying to check his injuries. Pain flares and he shifts, trying to escape it. 

The world fades out again.

“Hey! Hey! Don’t do that. Don’t move him.” 

It’s a new voice, coming towards him, somewhere from his left. Turning his head to follow it ends badly. Bile fills his mouth. His vision is rapidly reducing to a pinprick. Vaguely he makes out the red-haired woman from the restaurant. Down on her knees beside him, she’s leaning over him, urgency written over her face.

He has a few seconds to register she’s asking, “How do you know Danny?” before everything finally goes black.

TBC


	7. Danny

_“On behalf of the Captain and the crew I’d like to welcome you to Atlanta and thank you for flying with United Airlines.”_

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Danny mutters under his breath. Dragging his holdall out of the overhead locker, he ducks into the aisle, wincing as he stands upright. He feels likes he’s never going to be able to stand up straight ever again. It’s was 8am when he got in his car and drove the two hours to Philadelphia airport. Now it’s 2pm, he’s just landed after a two hour flight, and he’s still got a 90 minute drive ahead of him before he gets home.

Home. He runs that word in his head as he shuffles slowly towards the plane’s exit. He’s just spent a week with his family in Pennsylvania. He didn’t actually go home to New Jersey, to his parent’s house, even though he could have driven there. That’s a risk he’s still not prepared to take. Over the years his Mom has got used to hiding her disappointment. He’s not sure he can say the same.

He shivers as he reaches the door and cool air hits him. He has a sudden memory of landing in Hawaii, of the feel of the warm air on his skin. A pang of sadness hits him: home-sickness really is a bitch.

Walking into the terminal building, around him the accents have changed from Pennsylvania to Georgia. His Mom says there’s a little bit of a twang creeping into his accent. He’s made friends here and carved out a living. He’s not sure it’s his home though. Not yet.

Maybe never.

Shaking his head, he tries to pull himself out of the funk he’s fallen into. Saying goodbye to his Mom, Dad and sisters is always hard. It’s necessary though, he reminds himself sternly. This is where Charlie and Grace are. That’s the reason he’s doing all this. The reason he’s not getting on the first plane back to Hawaii.

Suddenly, the thought of driving home to sit alone in his house is just too depressing. Rubbing at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he considers his options. Stan, Rachel and Charlie live in the suburbs of Atlanta but they’re in New York this weekend, meeting one of Stan’s clients. Grace, on the other hand, is at McConnell University, a twenty minute drive away. He could have dinner with her before driving home later. 

Smiling at the idea of seeing Grace - still his little girl even though she’s 21 - he retrieves his phone from his holdall and switches it on. Instantly the screen fills up with missed calls and messages. Frowning, he scrolls through them. Sense of foreboding growing, he dials the first number on the list. 

It rings once before being picked up. “Deputy Marshall Kelley.”

“It’s Danny.”

There are hurried footsteps in the background. A door opens and closes. “Where the hell have you been?”

He glances over his shoulder, makes sure he can’t be overheard. Deputy Marshal Grant Kelley is the Marshal assigned to Stan’s case, the person who oversees their security. He sounds anxious. And angry. “You know where I was. What’s going on?” He tucks the phone closer under his chin. “Are Charlie and Grace okay?”

“They’re fine.” Grant takes a shaky breath. He sounds like he’s been running. “Where are you now?”

He closes his eyes, steadying himself against a wave of relief. “Atlanta airport. Should be home in 90 mins. Why?”

“I need to you to go to Greenfield. St Mary’s Hospital.”

“The hospital?” His minds flips back to the worse-case scenario again. “Why? You said Grace and Charlie are okay—”

“It’s not them, Danny.” There’s a pause. “I promise. I can’t tell you why over an open line but I need you here. Now.”

“Grant—”

“Do you trust me?”

He bites his bottom lip to stop himself from reacting. The US Marshals Witness Protection Service are convinced that after five years Stan and his family are a low risk case. It doesn’t stop him from worrying constantly. It’s impossible to be any other way when he’s seen the things he’s seen working as a detective. 

He owes Deputy Marshal Grant Kelley though. When he first arrived in Atlanta, the local WITSEC office hadn’t welcomed him with a marching band and champagne. Instead they’d threatened to arrest him, for endangering the security of a state witness. It had been Grant, a father of three young boys and an Army veteran, who had taken his side, persuading his bosses to give Danny a chance.

“Fine,” he agrees, grudgingly. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

Ending the call, he brings up the list of missed calls. There’s another reason he’s given in to Grant’s demand. There’s another number on his phone he wants to call. This time the number rings for ages before anyone picks up.

“Belle and Jerry’s Dinner. Meryl speaking. How can I help you?”

“Meryl. It’s Danny. Can you put Kate on?”

There’s an audible gasp at the other end of the line. “Thank god, you’re back. Kate’s not here, she’s still talking to the Marshals.”

“The Marshals? What the—”

“There was a shooting.” Meryl’s voice wobbles. “People got shot.”

Danny’s blood runs cold. This is the type of call he expected in Hawaii, not in Coalsville, Georgia. “Who got shot? Is everyone okay?”

“Billy. Billy got shot.”

Billy’s a popular name in town. It takes him a moment to figure it out. “Billy Petersen? They shot a police officer?” A rookie officer, out of the academy just two months.

“They ran over the other guy with their truck too.” Meryl takes a shuddering breath, on the edge of tears. “Kate said he didn’t look too good.”

“Who’s _he,_ Meryl?”

“I didn’t get a name. He said he was looking for Daniel Andrews. I asked Kate and she said she was going to talk to you about it but then we heard shooting and Kate ran outside and—”

He reaches out blindly, finding a wall to keep him upright as everything spins. “Slow down, slow down. Did you say Daniel Andrews? Are you sure that was the name he used?”

“I think so. Maybe.” Meryl sounds doubtful suddenly. “You better talk to Kate.”

He slumps against the wall. Covering his eyes with his hand, he tells himself to breathe. Daniel Andrews was one of his aliases. He’d confessed it to Kate late one night, when they’d both been drowning their sorrows with bourbon. He trusts her absolutely. There’s no way she’s told anyone else: they are partners in business and very close friends outside of work. A stranger walking into the diner and using it, that’s his worst nightmares coming true.

“Danny? Danny? Are you there? I got to go. The police are here now and I’ve got no one to get coffee for them.”

“It’s okay,” he lies, his mind racing too fast to come out with anything more intelligent. It’s quickly followed by guilt as he realises he’s not going to be there any time soon to help her. “Um…I gotta go and—”

“Me too,” Meryl interrupts before he can finish. There’s a pause, that turns into silence: she’s cut him off.

“Shit.” Tapping his phone against his teeth as he works through what’s just happened, he eyes the queue for passport control. It’s long, snaking its way back and forth across the room. Making a decision, he redials a number.

It’s picked up instantly. “You better be in a car and driving here right now or—”

“Grant, I just got a call from Meryl at the diner. There are Marshals there. What the hell is going on—”

“I told you already, you need to get over to—”

“Who shot Billy?”

“Billy?”

“The police officer. That doesn’t happen in—”

Grant sighs. Defeated. “It’s a flesh wound. He’ll be fine.”

The knot of tension in Danny’s chest releases slightly. “Good. Great.” He takes a deep breath. “And the other guy?”

“What other guy?”

Grant had paused. Infinitesimal but it had been there. “You know what I’m talking about. He asked after me at the diner. He had my _alias._ ”

Grant sighs. Louder this time. “Other people know your aliases, Danny. You told me that.”

“And I trust all of them—”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about have you,” Grant interrupts, sounding more pissed by the second. 

Danny scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grant huffs, much louder this time. “I got a posse of Marshals over here and they’ve got questions, Danny. Questions for you and me. Get over here. Now.”

“Me? Why me?” he shoots back but the line’s already gone dead. Staring at the phone, the sound of his heart thudding deafening him, he tries to get his thoughts back in order. Grant had worked quickly to move the conversation away from the ‘ _other guy’_ : the guy at the diner who knew his alias.

_Fuck._

The line to the passport checking desk has nearly gone. Tucking the phone in his coat pocket, he retrieves his passport from the holdall before swinging it over his shoulder. It’s not long before he’s passing his passport to the officer, taking a step back while he waits.

The officer runs his eyes over the passport. He raises an eyebrow. “Daniel Owens?”

He schools his face into bored interest. It’s been five years since he adopted the name Daniel Owens. But there’s still a moment whenever he travels back from Pennsylvania that he has to become Danny Owens again. Even on the plane, he’s still Danny Williams, the son who a few hours earlier had said goodbye to his Mom and Dad. There are still days when he panics, when he’s convinced he’s going to be found out. Especially today.

“Born in Jersey, huh?”

Danny blinks. Confused. “Er…yup.”

“Never been there.”

“Right.” He takes a breath. Tells himself to get a grip. This is just a bored official trying to pass the time. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“My wife, she loves Bon Jovi.”

It’s one of the things he and Steve had agreed on when working out his aliases. Taking a new name was the easy part. Being able to maintain a new life history, a back story, was much harder. His home state still had to be New Jersey. The state is tattooed on his bones. “She’s got good taste.”

The official closes the passport, slides it over the counter. “You’re a long way from home.”

Taking back his passport, he grins ruefully as he walks away. Back in the day, Steve would be laughing now. Giving him shit about eating pineapples and surfing like a local, and how he was Hawaiian now. 

_Ohana._

Right now, he feels a damn long way from home.

Outside the feeling of distance from home grows. It’s cold, the sun blocked by dark rain clouds. The wind’s picking up, whipping up leaves and trash as he jogs towards the parking lot. Climbing into the cab of his battered old ’86 Silverado, he coaxes it into life. As he drives away from the airport, heading for the highway, it judders and bounces along the road. There are days when he really misses the Camaro. But when you live half-way up a mountain in Georgia, where there’s only a dirt track to your log cabin, a Silverado makes a lot more sense than a Camaro. 

Steve, he thinks with a deep pang of sadness that hasn’t eased over time, would think that was really funny too.

H50H50H50

Danny spends much of the drive to Greenfield cursing the other drivers around him. He’s never seen so many people driving so slow. The only other sound in the cab is his phone buzzing. Grant certainly is impatient for him to arrive.

Several times he considers stopping and putting a call into Grace and Rachel. He doesn’t because he knows he’ll worry them: he won’t be able to keep the growing panic from his voice. He hadn’t lied when he’d told Grant he trusted him. That doesn’t stop him from breaking the speed limits though.

To his surprise everything looks normal as he pulls into the parking lot at St Mary’s Hospital. It’s a small community hospital, approximately twenty minutes from his home. It’s getting dark as he gets out of the truck and with all its lights on the hospital looks small and welcoming. The knot of anxiety in his chest starts to unfurl.

Inside it’s a different story. Standing in front of reception there are two men with their backs to him. The black sports jackets they are wearing say US Marshal on the back. He doesn’t have to check to see if either of them are Grant. The whole point of Grant’s job is to stay low-key.

Keeping his head down he walks past them. Hitting a hard left he ducks into the emergency stairwell. Grant’s messaged to meet him on the second floor, by the elevators. That doesn’t mean he has to take the elevator to get there.

Reaching the second floor, he opens the door and peers out onto the corridor. There are more black jackets with US Marshal on them. Lots of them. All gathered around the reception desk.

“Danny? What the hell are you doing?”

Biting back a surprised curse, Danny turns. Grant’s just walked round the corner, a coffee in his hand. Grant’s one of the calmest men he’s ever met but even he looks stressed. Taking a calming breath of his own, he waves towards the reception desk. “Wanna tell me what’s happening?”

“Not here.”

Before he can say anything else Grant’s nudging him around the corner, away from the excitement at the front desk. The detective that still lurks inside him - despite not having done the job for the last five years - insists he keeps his eyes on the Marshals until the last second. They’re agitated. Voices are being raised. 

Something is definitely up.

He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud until Grant raises a warning finger at him. “In here.”

He steps into the room Grant’s just opened the door to. It’s a small waiting room, with cheap old red sofas and a TV playing silently in the corner. There’s a coffee machine in one corner. Pouring himself a cup, he takes a seat. He takes a sip: it’s lukewarm and bitter. He downs it in one anyway.

Grant takes a seat on the couch opposite him. He gets straight to the point. “Those Marshalls out there, they’re part of a regional task force.”

Danny nods. Since moving to Georgia he’s had plenty of opportunity to learn how the US Marshals service works. A regional task force is a modern version of a posse, tracking criminals who are working across multiple states. 

“You heard about that bank robbery in Atlanta, three months ago? One security guard and a police officer dead. Two others seriously injured.”

He nods again. It had been every police officer’s – and their families' – worst nightmare. “They got away.”

“They’d already hit several banks,” Grant continues. “Their fuck up in Atlanta didn’t stop them. They’ve hit multiple banks since then. It’s a big gang. Well-organised. They rotate who carries out the jobs.”

“It makes them harder to track.”

“And harder to predict what they’ll do next. The task force have been tracking them but the bastards keep slipping out of reach. A week ago the task force got a tip that the next robbery would be in Dunston, Aintry, or Carroll counties. They sent out a request for all out of state vehicles to be checked. This morning officer Petersen, Billy, stopped a truck, just behind your diner.”

He struggles to take a breath: suddenly it feels like there’s a vice around his chest. He doesn’t believe in co-incidences. But this isn’t just about him. It’s about Billy. The kid that used to wash pots in his restaurant on the weekends to help get through college. “They shot him.”

“They did. He’s going to be fine,” Grant adds, anticipating his next question. His expression turns thoughtful. “It could have been worse, Danny. I haven’t spoken to him but he told his colleagues he was convinced they were going to kill him.”

“Why didn’t they?”

Grant inhales deeply, his chest visibly expanding as he sits upright. “A passer-by intervened.”

He takes a deep breath of his own. This is the crux of the matter: the reason he broke every speed limit on the way here. “The guy who asked after me in the diner. The one who knows my alias.”

“Yeah.” Grant gets to his feet, runs his fingers through his hair. “They’ve got him on this floor.”

Danny gets to his feet too. Nerves make him stuff his hands in his pockets. “How bad is it?”

“He’s still unconscious. He’s only been out of surgery for a short-while.” Grant paces away, comes back again. “No one’s been able to talk to him.”

“But you got a name right? You can still run a finger-print check, or facial recognition and—”

Grant studies him for a moment, looks away. “The files came back with the name John S Miller. It’s the name he gave Officer Petersen too. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t think so.” He frowns, working through everything he knows about Stan’s case, about Igor Bykov and his Russian mafia gang. “What’s his story?”

“Well that’s the thing.” Grant starts pacing again. “His story holds up against what he said at the diner. He’s a property developer from New York. Said he wanted to build a cabin here up in the hills.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’?”

“The records are too perfect. You know what I mean?”

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose. Perfect records are usually falsified records. It’s the kind of thing Igor Bykov could afford to pay someone to do. “I know what you mean.”

Grant studies him again. “You sure you don’t know him?”

“No.” Grant’s still watching him. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I need you to come see this guy.”

He meets Grant's gaze. Holds it. There’s a hint of doubt in Grant’s voice that he hasn’t heard for a long time. He’s not sure he likes it. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Grant opens the door. “Come see.”

It’s been a long day. He considers refusing just for the hell of it. But he wants to get this over with and find out what’s going on. Getting to his feet, he follows Grant back into the corridor. 

TBC


	8. Danny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the amazing comments. Sorry I haven't got back to anyone this week but all of the Kudos, comments and feedback are hugely appreciated <3<3<3

Danny walks beside Grant as they head for the reception desk. Like sniffer dogs sensing prey, all the Marshals standing by the reception desk turn to watch their approach.

An agent steps up to block their path. He’s huge, bigger than Lou. The black baseball cap he’s wearing shields his eyes but his body language is pure anger. 

Grant steps up to him, toe to toe. “We’ve got a deal, Harris.”

“You WITSEC boys, you think you can barge in here and take all the glory from months of work—”

“Don’t worry, Harris. You’re still gonna get employee of the week—”

“You son of a bitch—”

“Woah. Woah.” Another Marshal, a woman, has stepped forward. Black, in her early thirties, she barely reaches up to Grant’s shoulder. Shoving her arm between them, she makes them step back. “Let him do his job. We’ll still gonna get all the glory. Right, Grant?”

Grant raises an eyebrow at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

There’s a moment when Danny thinks the stand-off is going to end up in a full-blown punch up. To his surprise it’s Harris, not the normally mild-mannered Grant, who steps away.

As they continue their walk along the corridor, Danny waits until they’re out of hearing range before breaking the silence. “I like her. Who is she?”

“Moira Adams.” Grant grins back at him. It’s all teeth. “She’s the head of the task force.”

“Ahh.” He’s heard about her. He might not be in law enforcement any more (and doesn’t that still hurt) but he takes a healthy interest in the people who protect the state his children live in. “They’ve really got the big guns out, haven’t they?”

“They don’t set up a task force for nothing, Danny.” Grant comes to a halt. His expression turns serious. “Just so you understand what we’re dealing with here: it’s not me who they think has stolen all their glory. It’s the guy we’re about to see.”

“Like I said, I don’t know who John Miller is—”

“We’re here.” 

Grant opens the door they’re standing next to without ceremony. Picking up his cue, Danny steps in. 

It takes his eyes a moment to adapt to the soft lighting after the harsh bright lights in the corridor. It’s a small room, with a single occupant. The bed is in the middle, just the glow of a bedside light illuminating the man lying in it.

There’s a part of him – deep inside his brain – that recognises Steve McGarrett instantly, despite how badly bruised his face is. There’s a large part of him though who can’t accept it. Doesn’t want to, if he’s honest. It’s taken him years to learn how to live his life without Steve. Not enjoy it. Just live it. Survive it.

_Fuck._ He’s missed Steve so much.

The world around him reduces to this moment, to just him and Steve in this room. It’s like they’re in a glass box together, every sound beyond the room muted. Muscle memory keeps him moving, one step at a time. Then suddenly Steve’s really there in front of him, battered and bruised but breathing and alive. 

If he reaches out his hand right now, he can touch Steve. Prove this is real, not a dream.

He can’t do it.

“Danny? You okay?” 

Grant’s standing beside him, worry written across his face. He shakes his head, words failing him. There’s a buzzing noise in his head that’s getting louder. The world starts to tilt. Suddenly he’s being pushed into a chair, a hand on the back of his neck pushing his head between his knees.

Grant hunkers down beside him, so they’re almost nose to nose. “Who is it, Danny?”

Even though he’s still light headed, he can see the truth in Grant’s eyes. Anger flares in his chest. “You already know who it is.”

Grant’s expression morphs to apologetic. “Tell me.”

Leaning forward, he rests his head in his hands. If he says it out loud it’ll be real. And he’s not sure he can survive that level of emotional pain again. Swallowing hard, he dislodges the words from his throat: “His name is Steve McGarrett. He was my…partner in Hawaii.” Raising this head, he meets Grant’s gaze. “But you already knew that.”

“Danny—”

“You wanted to see my reaction, didn’t you? Why?”

Grant sighs. Looking around, he pulls a chair over for himself and sits down. He studies the floor for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I’m sorry, okay? I really am. But those guys out there, they’re angry because your friend has just blown the lid off months of work. They should have been on the tail of those guys today and they weren’t and people got hurt. Moira’s already called an investigation. Harris and his friends aren’t happy about that. They’re gonna be looking for fall guys. And if they start investigating your friend Steve here then eventually they’re gonna find a link to you, then Stan, and if you think they look angry now that’s nothing compared to what my boss is gonna say when I tell her—”

“Stan’s low risk now, a nobody. That’s what you told me—”

“No one likes having egg on their face, you know that.”

Danny looks away, anger flaring in his chest again. “That’s not my problem.” His eyes travel to the bed again. “Or…Steve’s.” 

Grant puffs out his cheeks, exhaling loudly. “It will be if you told him where to find you.”

“What?” He blinks, drags his eyes away from the bed. Clenching his fists, he fights to contain the anger that’s fizzing beneath his skin. “You really think I would do that? After all this time? You think I’d risk Grace and Charlie’s lives?” _That I’d torture Steve like that. Offer him something he can’t have._

“Okay, okay.” Grant’s rested a calming hand on his shoulder. “Keep it down otherwise we’ll get kicked out.”

Taking a deep calming breath, Danny does as he’s told. Walking in here had been hard enough. Walking out will be even harder. 

Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, he studies Steve again. He looks older, the shaved hair on the sides of his head heavily dotted with grey. There are bruises blooming down the right side of his face. The left-hand side is miraculously unmarked. Shadows pick out his eye lashes, resting against his cheeks as he sleeps, oblivious to the drama around him. Steve might be beaten up (and why isn’t that a surprise?) but he’s still as attractive as ever. “I have no idea why he’s here, okay.” He rubs at his eyes, fighting against a sudden wave of emotion. “How’s he doing?”

“The surgery was to pin his clavicle. Double break,” Grant explains, tapping his right shoulder. “He won’t be using that arm for a while.”

He snorts, despite the serious mood. “I doubt Steve will agree with you.”

“Ah. It’s like that, huh?” Grant watches Steve for a moment. “That’s not all. A couple of fractured ribs. His head took a pretty hard knock too. Doc’s want to keep an eye on that when he wakes up. He got lucky though: all that metalwork in his left leg took a hit but it’s just deep tissue bruising.”

“What metal-work…” His breath catches on the inhale, robbing him of his words. “What happened to his leg?”

Understanding dawns on Grant’s face. “You didn’t know about that. I’m sorry, I should have…” Reaching out to squeeze Danny’s shoulder, he gets up. “I’ll find someone to talk to you.”

Danny nods his thanks. Turning his attention back to Steve, something else occurs to him. “Did they… did they mention his liver? I mean…is it okay?”

Grant pauses, his hand on the door. “It’s fine.” He pauses. Takes a breath. Taps his chest. “For the record, that’s what gave him away: the scar. I knew without the finger print check he was your Steve you keep talking about.”

_He’s not my Steve,_ he thinks but instead voices what’s uppermost in his mind: “The bastards who did this to him. Did they get them?”

“The truck that hit, Steve, they got away in it. It was found abandoned a few miles away.” Grant’s tone is anger mixed with intent. “They’ve got trackers out with dogs and just about every police officer between here and the Tennessee border looking for them. They’ll have them by tonight.”

“Good.” He tells himself to breathe, to not let himself be blinded by the wave of anger that’s just hit him. Collecting himself, he turns to thank Grant for his help but he’s already leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.

Now that Grant’s gone, he can do what he’s been dying to since he came in the room. Reaching out, he touches Steve’s arm, resting on top of the sheets. There’s a second where his brain blanks out – _this can’t be real, it can’t be –_ then he’s sliding his hand lower, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s.

The loudest sound in the room is his own harsh breathing. His heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. The hand he’s holding is warm and so familiar. It’s real. It’s _fucking_ real.

The sob he’s been holding back, finally escapes. Reaching out with his other hand, he gently pushes back the hair from Steve’s forehead. “Look what they’ve done to you, babe.”

Dragging his chair closer to the bed, he leans his elbows on the mattress. Leaning forward, he studies Steve again. From this new angle he can see every whisker on his jawline, mostly grey now. It’s clear he still spends most of his time outdoors; his skin is as tanned as he remembers. What worries him is how much weight he’s lost though. It’s not like he was carrying extra pounds before.

Outside the room he can hear voices rising. Steve’s fingers twitch in his, more of a muscle spasm than an actual movement. He squeezes back, soothes him by rubbing his thumb in small circles on the back of Steve’s hand. “Ssh. You’re safe, Steve.”

He smiles to himself as Steve’s hand twitches again: he’s gradually waking up. His heartbeat speeds up in anticipation. Knowing Steve – always the overachiever – it won’t be long now before he’s finally awake.

It crosses Danny’s mind he should call someone from the medical team. That would mean letting go of Steve’s hand though. So he settles himself in the chair and waits quietly, just him and Steve together in a hospital room. It’s just like old times.

Accept, it isn’t really. This is Georgia, not Hawaii. He’s not Danny Williams anymore, at least not to the majority of people who know him. He doesn’t tear around an island in the middle of the Pacific, in a Camaro driven by a madman. He’s a part-owner in a diner that barely breaks even, even at the height of the tourist season. A couple of nights a week he volunteers with the local Scout troop, helping kids to grow up the best way they can. His only aims in life are to see his kids as much as possible and for the rest of the time to work so he doesn’t have time to realise how homesick he is.

To realise how much he’s been missing _this_ man.

When he first made it to Georgia and found Stan, Rachel, Grace and Charlie he’d been happy. But every day there would be a moment he’d look around to tell Steve something and realise he wasn’t there. Every time it had hurt like a stake to the heart. Over the years the pain had lessened – he’d made it go because it had to – but a day doesn’t go past when he doesn’t think of Steve. Of their last conversation together.

“You couldn’t just come find me and knock on my door, huh?” he whispers, half-smiling. “Should have guessed you’d be kicking asses and taking names.” Instinctively he raises Steve’s hand to his lips. Kisses it. “You saved Billy’s life, babe. Of course you did.”

“Danny?”

He flinches, looks over his shoulder. Grant’s standing in the doorway, holding two coffees. Understanding is dawning on his face.

Panic stirs. Unable to look at Grant, he turns his attention back to Steve. Clears his throat. “This is Grant, Steve. You’re gonna like him. He’s an argumentative bastard, just like you.”

“Thanks.” Grant pulls a face. “I think.” He takes his seat, offers a coffee, aborts the move when he realises Danny’s hands are busy. “He’s waking up?”

Steve’s hand twitches in his again. “Give him another hour and he’ll be signing himself out.”

“That long?” Grant chuckles. “You’re right. We are going to get along just fine.”

Catching Grant’s eye, he smiles at the truth in his words. Quickly though, he sobers. He considers Grant a friend but there’s always a tension there too: Grant’s there to do a job. “How they doing out there?”

Grant shrugs, takes a sip of his coffee. Winces. “Angry.” He blows at the top of the cup. “Why do you think he’s here? Why now?”

Taking the other coffee Danny resettles himself, grateful for the momentary distraction. “I don’t know.” And that worries him. Back in the day, he’d been able to read Steve like an open book. Or at least, he thought he could. “There’s got to be a good reason. He’d never put Grace or Charlie at risk. Never.”

“Or you.”

“He treats them like his own kids.” A memory flashes up, one he’s worked hard to forget. “The day he had to say goodbye to them, it killed him.”

“And you.”

He drops his eyes, faking interest in his coffee. Grant’s not wrong but it’s not a memory he wants to revisit. Another thought occurs to him though. His blood runs cold. “He’d do anything to protect us too.”

Grant freezes mid-sip. “You think he came because he thinks you’re in danger?”

“Maybe.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. When the fingers don’t twitch in reply, his heart sinks. _We really need you to wake up, babe._

Grant’s up and moving. “I’m gonna make some calls.”

Danny watches him go. There are, he suddenly realises, some calls he ought to be making too. Rachel and Grace: he hadn’t wanted to worry them but now he needs them to know Steve’s here. 

Rachel picks up straight away. As soon as she says his name he knows he’s picked a bad moment. Tightening his grip on Steve’s hand, he counts silently to five. “How’s New York, Rachel?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” she snaps back, tiredness threaded through her voice.

This mood that Rachel’s in, it’s not unusual. Her marriage with Stan had been on the rocks before they’d left Hawaii. She’d only gone with him to protect Grace and Charlie. They’ve worked on their relationship since then, come to an understanding. But he, Danny, still gets tearful phone calls from her sometimes, asking if she can stay in his spare room for a few days. 

Normally he’d take the time to talk her through it. Not tonight. “Steve’s here.”

Silence at the other end. Then: “Steve who?”

“Rach—”

“Steve, _Steve?”_ There’s another pause. “You didn’t say he was coming. We _agreed_ , Danny. WITSEC agreed. You could take the kids to Pennsylvania but no contact with Hawaii. That was the deal.”

“I haven’t broken the deal.” It’s been a long day: he doesn’t bother to manage his tone. “I didn’t know he was coming.” Exhaling loudly, he confesses the point of the phone call. “I thought maybe you did.”

“Me? Why would I do that?”

Closing his eyes, he sighs. Damn, he’s tired. “I don’t know, maybe because you sent me a postcard so I knew you were in Georgia. I figured maybe you’d done the same again.” It sounds ridiculous now he’s said it out loud. “I’m just… I don’t know why he’s here, Rach.”

“You haven’t asked him?”

Oh. “There was an…incident. He’s been in surgery and—"

“An _incident?_ This is Steve McGarrett, Danny. I’m betting it’s not just an incident. What the hell happened?”

“He saved a police officer’s life—”

“On my god—"

“Don’t worry about it—”

“Don’t worry about it? We’re supposed to be hiding—”

“Grant’s on it, okay.” Instantly he knows he’s said the wrong thing. “Look, I gotta go—”

“Grant’s there? Why is Grant there?”

This is exactly why he hadn’t called earlier. And probably why he shouldn’t have called her now. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t tell you if you were in danger?”

“Danny—”

“Answer the question.”

There’s a sigh at the other end. “I just…why is he there, Danny? Why now?”

He mirrors her sigh. Rests his gaze on Steve. “I wish I knew. He’ll be awake soon.” Hopefully. “I’ll call you when we know more.”

Rachel sighs again. Weary. “Okay.”

He takes a breath. He hates himself for what he’s about to ask. “Just…don’t tell Stan and Charlie yet. Please?”

“Why—” Rachel starts, then stops. “And Grace?”

He hesitates, pretends to think about it. There’s only one answer though: “I’ll call her now.”

“Whatever you think’s best, Danny.”

The anger that’s building inside him suddenly drains away: she sounds beaten. Done. There have been times in his life when he’s hated his ex-wife for the things she’s done but they’re both older now. Both stuck in this new world that neither of them wanted to be in. “You know you can always come stay with me, don’t you.”

She makes a sound, half laugh, half sob. “Thanks.” There are voices in the background. “I’ve got to go. Tell Steve we’ve missed him, won’t you?”

“Sure.” Missed him is an understatement, he thinks, but doesn’t say so. He and Rachel have talked about Hawaii a lot, sharing the good memories to keep them sane. Steve’s always featured heavily in them. But he’s never told Rachel about _those_ feelings he has for Steve. “Tell Charlie I love him.”

“I will. He’s looking forward to seeing you.”

“Me too. I’ll see you on Friday. Usual place.”

Cutting the call, he stares at the blank screen. In all the excitement he’d forgotten that next weekend is his turn to have Charlie. Grace has talked about driving home from college too.

“Dann’?”

His heart flips, stealing his breath away. Steve’s eyes are open. There’s confusion in them – he’s slow blinking like he’s struggling to focus – but there’s recognition too. The corners of Steve’s lips twitch upwards, his face flooding with warmth. The machine monitoring his heart beat spikes suddenly. Then his breath catches and he coughs. Hard. 

He grabs Steve’s hand as he curls into himself, the coughing coming hard and fast. Steve’s vice-like grip makes his eyes water. Slipping his arm behind Steve’s shoulders, he supports him through the coughing-jag. “Hold on, babe. I got you. I got you.”

He stays like that for a while: holding Steve in a half-hug, his chin resting on the top of Steve’s head. Part of his brain is excitedly registering how it feels to have Steve in his arms, like a kid at Christmas. The other part is standing back, still stunned at what is going on. 

Gradually Steve’s death-grip on his hand and the bedsheets relaxes. Easing Steve back into the pillows, he checks the equipment next to the bed. “I’m gonna get someone—”

“No. Gimme a minute.” 

Steve’s got hold of his hand again, stopping him from leaving. Steve’s eyes are still closed, his lips pinched in pain. Against his better judgement he gives Steve a few more minutes. 

Finally Steve’s face relaxes and he opens his eyes again. “I’m good.”

He studies Steve’s face for a moment, not liking what he sees. Reluctantly he sits back down. Before he can question Steve’s medical skills the door opens. Grant slips inside, closing the door softly behind him. 

Steve’s eyes track Grant as he comes to stand by the bed. His eyebrows join together in a frown. Danny tracks where he’s looking: the badge on Grant’s belt. 

Grant’s seen it too. “I’m Deputy US Marshal Grant Kelley, Commander McGarrett. Or is that John S Miller?”

Danny rolls his eyes at him. Grant’s body language is relaxed but his tone is veering on the wrong side of pissed. There’s a reason he and Steve are going to get along just fine. “He’s the liaison officer on Stan’s case,” he explains, squeezing Steve’s hand. “We’ve worked together before.”

Grant raises one eyebrow. “We’ve _worked_ together? Is that what you’re calling it?”

Danny’s smile grows. He gets great enjoyment from riling Grant, even though they are friends. “Yup.”

“You track down a family who are in witness protection, triggering a complete review of our processes. You continually question and test every safety measure we put in place for Charlie and Grace.” Grant pauses just long enough to drag in more air. “And now your friend here…your _friend_ has just blown open a case that a regional task force has been working on for months. _Months.”_

Steve clears his throat, wincing as he moves. “What’s a regional task force?”

Danny gets up to pour a glass of water. Steve’s voice sounds husky. Painful. “A posse of marshals,” he explains. “Like in the movies. John Wayne.”

Grant scowls. “Not like in the movies. We’re not cowboys.”

He bobs his head side to side, pretending to consider that. Grant he trusts. The rest of the US Marshal WITSEC division? Not so much. That’s an argument for another day though. Slipping his arm behind Steve’s shoulder, he offers Steve the glass. 

Steve sips, gratefully. As he settles back into the pillows his expression turns inwards. His body twitches, like sections of it are being switched on and off.

Danny’s own chest contracts painfully. It’s so wrong that he knows exactly what Steve is doing, even after all these years: “Fractured ribs. Broken collar bone,” he supplies, saving Steve the job of working it out for himself. “Your right-hand side took the impact of the truck. Oh, and you’ve got a concussion. A bad one.” He pauses. Takes Steve’s hand again. “That metal-work you’ve in your leg probably saved it from any more damage.”

Steve’s expression turns shuttered. “Not…bad then.” 

He tightens his grip on Steve’s hand. This is never how he imagined seeing Steve again would go. “They nearly killed you.”

Steve grimaces. Closes his eyes.

Another silence falls, heavier this time. With Steve’s eyes closed it’s difficult to hold a conversation. And his own mind is swirling, unbalanced by all the sudden changes. In the end it’s Grant who breaks it, clearing his throat nervously. “Commander. I’ve got to ask you, why are you here?”

Steve opens his eyes – and the heart monitor quickens again. It’s not Grant he’s looking at, it’s him. “A leaflet,” he forces out, words tripping over each other as he struggles to breathe with his injured ribs. “You…sent me a leaflet.”

Frowning, Danny leans forward, both hands reaching out to grip Steve’s hands. This makes no sense. “What leaflet, babe? I didn’t send you anything.”

Steve shakes his head. The blood drains from his face. Eyes wide with panic, his hand shoots out, grabbing the bed covers as he struggles to sit upright. “Joanie… present…you sent her…a present…”

Gently nudging Steve on his good shoulder, he eases him back down into the bed. It says something about Steve’s physical condition that he can. Throwing a worried glance at the machines – which are now furiously flashing figures at him – he leans over the bed, trying to block Steve from getting up. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he soothes, struggling to keep his own growing panic at bay, “but we’re gonna sort it out, okay? You need to stop moving or—”

“I…I got to get…out of here…”

“No. No, no, no. That’s not happening—”

“Grace…Charlie…”

“—are fine,” Grant hurries round the other side of the bed as a machine starts beeping its distress. “You’ve got to calm down.”

Danny grabs Steve’s hand, stops him from trying to pull back the bed covers. The confusion and fear in Steve’s eyes stabs him in the heart. “Listen to him, Steve. Would I be here if they weren’t? Really? Really?”

“Danny…”

“Sshh. We’ll figure it out. Don’t we always figure it out? Huh?”

Steve stares back at him. Eyes dark with pain. Uncertain. “Yeah,” he mouths.

For a second, he thinks they’ve got this. He forces himself to smile, at least a little bit. Then in a blink Steve’s face crumbles. Curling in on himself, he groans with pain. Before he can help him another alarm goes off – much louder. Seconds later the door opens and medical staff swarm in.

Danny suddenly finds himself out in the corridor. As more nursing staff appear Grant steers him out of the way. Coming to a halt, he slumps against the wall. This is every nightmare he’s had in the last five years coming true. 

Grant doesn’t look much better. “What was he talking about, Danny? A leaflet? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Running his fingers through his hair, he tells himself to calm down. There’s a sensible reason for why all this is happening. There has to be.

“Who’s Joanie? And why would you send her a present?”

Danny blinks. There’s a note of accusation in Grant’s voice. It’s not a tone he likes. Raising his chin, he crosses his arms across his chest. “Joanie’s his niece. And I’ve told you already, I don’t know what’s going on.”

Grant huffs, his impatience clear. "I'm going to update those guys." Grant tells him nods towards the reception desk where several members of the Marshals task force are still hanging around. “They’ve still got Deputies on the ground at the crime scene. Steve must have a vehicle there. I’ll ask them to check it out. Don’t move.”

TBC


	9. Danny

Danny’s got no intention of moving but not because Grant’s said so. He can’t drag his eyes away from the door to Steve’s room which is now closed. It feels like forever but finally the door opens again.

Instantly he finds himself pinned to the spot by a hard stare. The doctor who’s come to a halt in front of him obviously isn’t taking any prisoners.

“He’s resting,” she tells him. “He needs peace and quiet. No more excitement.”

Peering around her, through the open door, he checks for himself. Steve’s propped up on more pillows, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as he sleeps. He looks calm. Peaceful.

He steps back, nodding he understands. There’s nothing he wants more right now than to be in there but he needs to know what the hell is going on too. A quick glance down the corridor confirms Grant is still talking to his fellow Marshals. With a nod of thanks to the doctor, he marches over to join them. 

Grant acknowledges his arrival with a nod and a half-smile. The other Marshals don’t look so pleased to see him.

Luckily, dealing with pissed off people is something he’s very good at. “What have we got?” 

The Marshals’ reaction to his tone of command is comical. But nothing about this situation is funny. Meeting their gazes, he holds them. Feet shuffle.

It’s Grant who answers. “The officers at the crime scene have sent pictures.” Grant clicks his fingers at one of the Marshals who, with obvious reluctance, hands over his phone. “There you go.”

Danny increases the image size, squinting at the detail. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s a tourist leaflet for this area.” Grant points at the screen. “Six of the tourist attractions are crossed out. The Atlanta office have tracked the movements of the camper van Steve’s been driving. It matches.”

He blinks. Of _course_ that’s how Steve’s been travelling. “And?” 

One of the other Marshals clears his throat. “It looks like he’s been living in it for a while. We’re still checking the local campsites but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Don’t bother.” Everything Steve taught him five years earlier is coming back to him. “He will have been staying off-grid whenever he can.”

“Ex-Navy SEAL,” Grant adds, a hint of admiration in his voice.

The other Marshals exchange looks and shuffle again.

His annoyance level growing, Danny checks the picture of the leaflet again. “What’s left on here?”

“Bob’s Giant Peanut Store.” A snigger passes through the Marshals. “Does your friend like peanuts?”

His heart sinks: he recognises that name. He meets Grant’s eyes. “I’m guessing it’s not a co-incidence that’s in Coalsville, where I live.”

“No.” It’s one of the Marshals who’s spoken. “And that’s not the only co-incidence your friend’s involved in. Why was he at the site of a bank robbery carried out by a gang who have also been living rough in Georgia? And why has he been staying at the same places these gangs have.”

Something inside him snaps. He takes a step forward. “Excuse me?”

Grant raises his hand, waves him to calm. “Danny, it’s not worth it.”

“It’s okay, Grant. I just want to understand what’s going on here because I’m sure our friend here just suggested Steve is involved with this gang.” He turns his attention back to the Marshal. “You sure that’s the story you want to go with, buddy?”

“What I’m saying is,” says the Marshal slowly, crossing his arms, “are you sure your friend’s not involved with this gang?”

He takes another step forward. They’re standing toe-to-toe. “You might not have noticed but they tried to kill him. Nearly managed it too.”

“Really?” The Marshal raises his eyebrows. “Did _you_ not notice the bad guys got away? I thought your friend was supposed to be a badass Navy SEAL. Doesn’t look badass from where I’m standing.”

Anger flares. Red-hot. Danny raises a hand but Grant’s there before him, inserting his body between them.

“You’ve got a minute to get out of here,” Grant hisses, his face just inches from his fellow Marshal’s, “before I let Danny kick the crap out of you. And believe me, it ain’t going to be pretty.”

The Marshal grins but it’s weak, full of false-confidence. “Fine. Whatever. All I’m saying is John Miller or Steve McGarrett or whatever his name is better have a good reason for being here and he better explain what it is fast or he’s gonna be enjoying some Georgia police hospitality. And it ain’t all surf boards and pina coladas like it is in Hawaii.”

“Deputy Harris, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Deputy Marshal Harris jerks back, like he’s been stung. Moira Adams, the head of the task force, is standing by the elevators. As she advances on her team they have the sense to look busy again, leaving Danny and Grant to speak to her on their own.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” she says, looking at her team, who shuffle a few more steps away, heads down. “They’ve been working too many long hours on this. But they shouldn’t have disrespected a veteran like that.” She meets Danny’s gaze. Holds it. “On behalf of my team, I’m sorry.”

It might be five years since he’s worn a badge but he can remember the pressure of working on high-profile police cases. More importantly, his gut feeling is that she’s someone he can work with. That doesn’t mean she gets a free pass. 

“Look, I get you have to investigate every lead but we all know Steve isn’t involved in whatever this is. When he wakes up, he’s going to tell you that. He also has a damn-near photographic memory so you’ll get to know everything he does, including if he’s seen these guys somewhere else.” He pauses, lets the anger he’s been holding back creep into his voice. “But if one of your guys is disrespectful to him, if anything they say or do affects Steve’s recovery then I will be kicking their asses, whether they are US Marshals or not. You understand me?”

For a second he thinks he’s over done it. Adams is a law enforcement officer after all. Then the corner of her lips twitch upwards. She nods once. “We’re going to get along just fine, Mr…Owens.”

If she or Grant say anything else, he doesn’t hear it. The use of his ‘Georgia’ name has jarred him, tilted his world on its side. It’s taken nearly five years to package away Detective Danny Williams. In the space of a few hours he’s back again. It’s like the whole world is spinning around him, while he’s stuck in the middle, with no idea which way to turn.

“Danny, you okay?”

Dragging himself to the present, he focuses on Grant’s voice. “I’m good.”

“You’ve gone grey, buddy. I think it’s time for food and another coffee. Come on, let’s see what we can find.”

“I can’t. Steve—”

“—is still asleep.” Grant nudges him on the shoulder. “I’m getting the sense that you’re not going to leave him tonight. And I’ve still got to report back at the office once I’m done here. It’s been a day, Danny. I don’t know about you but I need to eat.”

He opens his mouth to protest. But Grant sounds as tired as he feels. He’s right, they need to eat, even if it is just hospital food. He lets Grant escort him back to the elevator – Moira Adams has rounded up her team and taken them off somewhere – and back to the ground floor and food. 

As Grant goes off to buy the food – ‘Expenses’, he’d explained with a toothy, mean grin – he finds them a quiet booth in the corner and slides along the bench seat, so he can rest his head against the wall. He’s been running at top speed since landing in Atlanta. The tank’s empty now. He just wants to sleep. Gradually his eyelids drift closed.

His phone vibrates.

He lets it run for a while but finally gives in to its demand for attention. A quick glance at the messages rudely drags him back to wakefulness. Cursing under his breath, he scrolls through them all.

There are four from his Mom, anxious that he’s hasn’t texted to say he’s made it home. There are three from Kate at the diner, asking him where the hell he is. It’s the last one that’s got his heart beating frantically though: it’s Grace and she wants to know what the hell is going on.

Quickly he sends his Mom and Kate a text message. It makes him feel as guilty as hell but he’s juggling too many plates as it is. They’ll have to wait until tomorrow. The third one he can’t ignore though. As Grant reappears with a tray stacked with food and enough caffeine to keep them both awake all night, he dials Grace’s number.

Grace is studying at McConnell University, a few hours away from Atlanta. She’s only been there a few months but she’s loving it. Already she’s got a huge circle of friends. So he’s not surprised when her message service kicks in: it’s nearly 8pm, she’s probably out somewhere, too busy to look at her phone.

Leaving her a message to call him back he keeps the phone where he can see it before turning his attention to the food Grant’s bought. There are burgers, fries and a chocolate donut to go with the coffee. It’s enough carbs for a week but that’s probably a good thing. They eat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Polishing off the burger and fries he’s just contemplating the donut when his phone vibrates again.

Grace starts talking before he can even say hello. “Dad? Are you okay? I saw the news and—”

“Whatever your Mom said, it’s not true.” Silently he curses Rachel for the panic he can hear in his daughter’s voice. She’s almost 22 but in his head she’s still his baby girl. “I’m fine. Steve’s fine too.”

Grace makes a surprised squeaking noise. “Did you just say Uncle Steve’s there?”

_Shit._ “Grace. Did your Mom call you?”

“Mom? No.” There’s giggling in the background and music playing. “Hang on second. I can’t hear you very well.”

“Grace…” There’s the sound of footsteps on a wooden floor, doors opening and closing. Sighing, he waits for her to come back on the line. Across from him Grant’s watching him, eyebrows raised, his half-eaten donut forgotten in his hands. “She knows something’s wrong,” he mouths, just as Grace comes back on the line.

“What’s going on?” Grace asks, sounding breathless. “Is Steve really there? Can I talk to him—”

“Woah. Woah.” He waves his free hand at her, even though he knows she can’t see him. “Start from the beginning, babe. What did you see on the news?”

“The shooting outside the diner. It was on the local news.” Grace sounds impatient now. Sometimes she reminds him so much of Rachel. “I was worried. I thought you were there…” She trails off, goes silent for a moment. “What did you mean, has Mom called me?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly. Grace takes after her old man too. If she actually becomes a police officer, like she’s planning to, she’ll make a great detective one day. Ignoring the way Grant’s now scowling at him, he answers her question. 

“Everyone at the diner is fine, okay? I called your Mom because…” He trails off because the reason in his head makes no sense now. Shaking his head at himself, he continues. “I called her because Steve’s here and I don’t know why, okay? I’m worried and I thought your Mom might know something about that so I called her.”

“You thought Mom would know why he’s there?”

Grace’s tone has changed from excited to incredulous. There’s also a hint of disappointment there. Running the conversation back through his head he realises there’s another emotion missing: surprise. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Danno—”

“Don’t Danno me. What did you do?”

Grant’s leaning across the table now, gesturing for his attention. Waving him to silence, Danny waits for Grace’s reply.

Grace sighs loudly. Long-suffering. “I knew you were going to be like this—”

“Grace—”

“I’ve been sending Joanie money for her birthday.”

He shakes his head. He can hear the words but they’re not making sense. “Why would you do that? We agreed we wouldn’t make contact with anyone in Hawaii—”

“No, Dad. _You_ and Mom and Stan agreed. I didn’t—"

“It was to keep you safe—”

“We _are_ safe. I didn’t put an address on there or a message. I knew he’d figure it out and—”

“Grace—”

“He needed to know you were okay.” There’s a pause. The sound of heavy breathing. “You think I don’t know that you check the news reports from Hawaii every day?”

Swallowing hard, he rests his face in his hand. “ _Sweetheart_.”

“I love you, Danno.”

“I love you, too.” Taking a deep breath, he raises his eyes to meet Grant’s gaze across the table. “You wouldn’t know anything about a tourist leaflet would you?”

Grace sighs again. Softer this time. “It was time.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Across from him, Grant covers his face with his hand. Dropping his head, he does the same. “You don’t know what you’re getting into—”

“I had to. You weren’t ever going to do it. Either of you.”

_There’s a reason for that, sweetheart. I kissed him._

“Is…is Steve okay? You said he was fine but I know if he was there he’d be fighting you for the phone already.” Another pause. “What happened?”

He considers lying. Dismisses that. Any pretence of maintaining secrecy went out of the window hours ago. “He was involved in the shooting this morning. He’s in St Mary’s, in Greenfield. I’m there now.”

“I’m coming over.”

“No. No.” Sitting upright, he grips the phone tight. “It’s late. I don’t want you out on the road on your own.” Slumping into the bench, he rubs his hand over his face. “Please, Grace. I’m not lying, he’ll be fine. Come tomorrow morning. I’ll still be here.”

She agrees but he can hear the emotion in her voice. It weighs heavy on his heart as he says goodbye. There’s part of him that’s pleased they’ve cleared up the mystery of who Steve got the leaflet from: he’s going to enjoy making the Deputies on the task force eat their words. But Grace, with all her good intentions, has reopened an old wound that he’d hoped would heal with time. And Steve…he doesn’t even want to think about what Steve’s going to say.

“I was going to play golf this morning,” Grant announces morosely from the other side of the table. “Eighteen holes and beers with my buddies, Danny.”

Danny grins: he can’t help himself. Sometimes he sounds so like Lou Grover. His smile slips. _Lou. Fuck._

Grant bobs down to look at him. “What’s happened now? What’s that face?”

“Grace said the shooting was on the news. Steve’s team, I guarantee they’re gonna be checking the news reports around here. I need to call them before they get on the next flight to come look for him.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He studies his own uneaten donut. It’s glazed with dark chocolate and white sprinkles. It looks so delicious. “Welcome to the world of Steve McGarrett,” he announces with a hint of hysteria, as he pushes the plate with the donut across the table, “you’re gonna need this my friend.”

H50H50H50

It’s early evening when Grant heads back to the Atlanta office and the shit fest that is waiting for him there. Danny waits for the rear lights of Grant’s truck to disappear out of the parking lot before he heads back into the hospital.

Taking the elevator up to the second floor, he yawns widely. Tired beyond words, what he really wants is a bed. There’s no way he’s leaving tonight though so the bed’s going to have to wait for a while longer. 

When he’d explained his plan to the nursing staff they hadn’t met it with enthusiasm. It had taken his explanation of what would happen if Steve woke up to be confronted by a stranger to get him a seat for the night. So when he gets back to Steve’s room and not only finds out that Steve’s still sleeping calmly but that a padded reclining chair has appeared too, he’s stupidly grateful.

Slumping down into the chair he fiddles half-heartedly with the controls. The bottom flips out, tipping him backwards. Coming to rest, he’s staring at the ceiling. 

Exhaling loudly, he lets all of the frustrations of the day out.

He closes his eyes, tries to relax, but his brain is still running backwards. Trying to work out what today means for all the people in his life. Grace. Charlie. Rachel. Grant. Kate. But mostly, he thinks about Steve.

Sliding his gaze lower, he watches Steve sleep. Steve’s breath is hitching slightly. He winces in sympathy: it’s a side-effect of the fractured ribs. Only Steve’s head is visible above the bed covers but his skin, under all the bruising, is a healthy colour. The machines around the bed have gone back to humming quietly.

Reassured, he exhales slowly again.

He’d lied to the nursing staff about why he needed to stay. Well, kind of. His need to stay is for more selfish reasons. One of his recurring nightmares is of the day he walked away from Hawaii – and Steve. He can’t do that again. Not today.

A blanket’s been draped over the back of the recliner. Shaking it out, he covers himself with it. Closing his eyes still doesn’t bring sleep but his body starts to relax, slumping further into the seat.

_Lou._

His eyes snap open. Cursing to himself, he digs out his phone. There had been an element of truth in his warning to Grant, that the team would get on the first plane here. Ignoring the little voice in his head that likes the idea of the Five-0 team raiding the Atlanta office of the US Marshal’s Service to find their leader, he dials a number that he memorised five years ago.

“Lou Grover.”

The voice sounds so warm, so fond, so _familiar_ , he has to take a second to collect himself. Swallowing hard, he exhales slowly. “Lou. It’s Danny.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath at the other end. “Damn, it’s good to hear your voice, man. You’re okay?”

Danny rubs at his eyes. Hearing Lou’s voice has released the wave of emotion he’s been struggling to supress since the first moment he saw Steve. “I’m good.”

Lou humpfs, like he doesn’t believe that. Or maybe it’s just nervousness: “I guess if you’re calling then…I mean…”

“Steve’s here.” He slides his gaze to the bed. Keeps it there.

There’s a heavy pause. Lou clears his throat. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened—”

“You really think that’s gonna work?”

He smiles wryly to himself. He should have known he wouldn’t get anything past Lou.

“There was chatter this afternoon about a place called….” Lou’s voice goes muffled for a second, “Coalsville. Please don’t tell me that was Steve.”

_Oh shit. “_ He’s okay, Lou.”

“Is that Steve okay, or normal person okay?”

He closes his eyes against the worry in Lou’s voice. “Steve okay.”

“Damn. Do I need to call Mary?”

“No.” He opens his eyes. Checks Steve’s still deeply asleep. “I mean…I’ll ask him when he wakes up. Okay?”

“‘Kay.” There’s silence at the other end for a long moment. “You need any help up there? Just give me the word and you know we’ll be there.”

Danny shakes his head, even though he knows Lou can’t see him. It’s not for Lou: it’s for him. “The Marshals have got it under control.

Lou hums under his breath. “You don’t sound sure. You want us to pull some strings. Kick some ass. You know we can.”

Despite his dark mood, he can’t stop a grin from breaking out. His blood’s tingling at the idea of doing what Lou’s suggested. He’s missed this. “We’re good. Steve’s already caused enough chaos to last us for months. I don’t think Georgia’s quite ready for the rest of you.”

Lou laughs. Deep. Genuine. Tinged with sadness. “It’s good to hear your voice, Danny.”

He swallows down the sob that’s threatening to escape. “You too.”

“How you doing?”

Giving in, he lets loose a shaky laugh of his own. “I’ve had better days.”

Silence. Then: “Just like old times.”

Puffing out his cheeks, he closes his eyes. Lou’s right. It is just like old times.

“We’ve missed you. It’s not been the same,” Lou continues, his voice low. Gentle. “He misses you.”

Damn. It’s what he’s always suspected but hoped hadn’t happened. Steve shuts down when he’s emotionally compromised. Work become his main focus. His only focus. “He’s got some extra scars, Lou. And some impressive metal work in his leg.”

“Yeah.” There’s something in Lou’s voice that sends a shiver down Danny’s spine. “I’ll let him tell you about that one.”

Damn. That bad. There’s something else that’s worrying him too. “Lou. Has Will…has Grace been in contact with Will since we left?”

“What, you mean like calls or messaging?”

“No. I mean like sending him stuff. Like tourist leaflets.”

“Why would she do that…oh.” There’s a pause. Another ‘Oh’, much deeper this time. “Grace sent the leaflet and the money?”

“Yup.”

“But Steve…he thinks you sent them, Danny. That’s why he came to find you.”

He closes his eyes again. “That’s what I was worried about.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

He appreciates the determination and belief in Lou’s voice but it doesn’t make everything miraculously work. “I did something stupid before I left and—”

“—like I said, it doesn’t make any difference.”

“You don’t know what I did.”

“You told him how you feel about him?”

Danny’s heart misses a beat. For a second he considers admitting he’d skipped the confession of love stage and gone straight to the first kiss. Dismisses it. “He told you?”

“I guessed. Those last few weeks, you were really wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

He blinks against the sympathy woven through Lou’s words.

“Five years ago, if he’d said he’d come with you, would you have said yes?”

Closing his eyes, he groans under his breath. This scenario, he’s run it so many times in his head. “I don’t know, okay? It would mean leaving Hawaii, Mary and Joanie, his ohana, everything that’s important to him—”

“—and maybe he’s ready to do that. For you.”

He opens his eyes again. Studies Steve. “What if…what if it’s too much to ask,” he whispers, sharing his deepest fears. “Hawaii is in his blood, Lou.”

There’s a pause. A long one. “Or maybe he’s found something that’s more important to him than all of that.”

“I don’t know.” Happy endings are something that happen to other people. Not him. Smoothing his hair down with his hand, he tries to get his thoughts straight. “I wasn’t expecting it, is all.”

Lou chuckles. “It’s not the first time Steve McGarrett’s hijacked your life. How did that work out for you last time, huh?”

He smiles. “It worked out okay.” Better than okay. “Don’t ever tell him I said that though.”

“I’ll try not to.” There are voices in the background. Footsteps getting closer. “Look, I gotta go,” Lou explains, his voice heavy with regret. “Can I call you back? We’ve got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

Danny lowers the phone, considers that for a moment. Lou’s question had been hesitant, like he’s expecting rejection. And before today, the answer would have been a hard no. Suddenly he’s in new territory: despite his constant worry about Grace and Charlie’s safety, now he’s got Steve here, even that feels more under control.

Shaking his head at the giant contradiction that is his life, he tucks the phone back under his chin. “I’m pretty sure WITSEC are going to change my number,” he explains, surprised with hindsight that his phone is still working now. “I’ll call you, okay?”

“I’ll hold you to that. Don’t wait too long though. Tani and Junior are checking out flights to Atlanta already.”

“Oh God.”

As he cuts the call the last thing he hears is Lou’s deep, warm chuckle. It envelops him, like a huge, thick blanket. Tears are prickling at the edge of his eyes. He scrubs at them, tiredly. He’s missed his friends so much. Sure, he’s made friends here too: he’s not always lonely. But they haven’t healed the wound caused by the move from Hawaii.

Curling back into the chair, he watches Steve breathe. His heart sinks at the knowledge that Steve thinks the leaflet came from him. He understands what Lou was saying but it _does_ make a difference, to him. 

He can’t deny it, having Steve here is a dream come true. But asking him to leave Hawaii when he knows himself how hard it was, he’s not sure he can do it. And that stupid kiss of his, it screwed everything up. Clouded the already murky waters. 

Steve’s never told him he has romantic feelings for him, despite giving out all the right signals. Worse, he’s a stupid self-sacrificing lug who wouldn’t think twice about hoofing it all the way over to Georgia if he thought he – Danny – needed him.

Even if it meant giving up everything that meant something to him.

_Fuck._

TBC


	10. Steve

“Danno, I’ve said I’m sorry, okay?”

“You should have told me, Grace.”

“You would have told me not to—”

“You think?”

“I didn’t know…I didn’t know _this_ was going to happen to Steve.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m gonna have to apologise to Grant, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. And to everyone in the Marshal Service Atlanta office. They had a full scale alert going there for a while.”

“They’ve got to stop doing that. How long have they known us?”

“That leaflet scared the crap out of us. It’s not funny, Grace.”

“It is. Just a little bit…Hey, is he waking up?”

“I think so. Steve. C’mon, you need to open your eyes for me, babe.”

“Uncle Steve?” 

_Uncle Steve._ Floating on the edge of consciousness, the term of endearment registers in Steve’s brain. _Grace and Danny_ his brain explains helpfully, nudging him back to a waking state _. They’re actually here._

The drugs are still making him feel dopey. They cause weird dreams too. So when he opens his eyes he’s fully expecting Danny and Grace and the conversation he’s just listened to, to be a figment of his imagination. But the hand gripping his still feels very real. And the woman sitting next to Danny, she does look like an older version of Grace.

“Steve. Can you hear us?”

Danny’s watching him expectantly. The only thing he can do in return is blink. His brain’s struggling to compute that this is Grace, the same Grace he left behind in that hotel in Hawaii. She’s grown from being a teenager into an even more beautiful version of herself. Her hair’s darker, pulled up in knot on the back of her head. She’s barely wearing any makeup but she’s radiant with the confidence of someone who’s finding her way in the world - and enjoying it.

Danny leans forward, blocking his view. “I know,” he says softly, reaching over to rub his thumb under Steve’s eyes. “She’s all grown up, huh?”

Steve realises, with growing horror, that it’s his tears Danny is wiping away. He’s always hated the way drugs mess with his emotions. Before he can turn his face away, Grace is taking Danny’s place. 

Smiling, she dips down to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

He blows out a breath; anxiety, relief and exhaustion all mixed into one. “Missed you too, Graceface.” 

The teenager he remembers appears as she smiles shyly back. Her smile falters as Danny sucks air through his teeth: a heart-achingly familiar sign that Danny’s about to switch into Dad mode. 

Danny doesn’t disappoint him. “You’ll not gonna be so pleased to see her, babe, when she tells you what she did.”

Grace slumps back down into her chair. Rolling her eyes skywards, she sighs. “I did it for a good reason.”

“For a _good_ reason?” Danny waves his arm in his, Steve’s, direction. “You nearly gave him a coronary. There were alarms, Grace. Lots of alarms. And doctors.”

“Okay, I get it. I get it.”

Danny huffs. Sits back in his seat. “Good.” He huffs again, deflating as all the fight goes out of him. “Can you go find us coffee and breakfast while I explain to Steve what’s going on? I think we’re making his headache worse—"

“I don’t have a headache—”

“—and on the way back tell the nurses he’s awake. Number of times they’ve been checking in here, I think you’ve got them worried, babe.”

He opens his mouth to try and get a word in edgeways but it seems a lot of effort. Then Grace winks at him as she gets up to leave. Instantly he’s transported back five years, to him and Grace ganging up against Danny and he has to close his eyes again because it’s too real, too much and the fucking tears are threatening again.

“You look like hell, Steve.”

Opening his eyes, he finds Danny leaning forward on his knees, watching. The harsh, mechanical light of the hospital picks out every detail of Danny’s face. 

“You look…older.” The words have slipped out – damn drugs – but it is the truth. Wincing, he lifts his left hand to tap the side of his head, to illustrate. “The grey….I like it.”

Danny manages a half-smile. “You’ve got a few patches there yourself, buddy.”

He hums his agreement, because isn’t that the truth.

Danny reaches out to take his hand again, his expression turning serious. “You really know how to make an entrance, babe. You had us worried for a while there.”

He groans under his breath. The fog from the drugs is gradually disappearing. Everything that’s happened in the last day is coming back. Panic flares. “The leaflet. What happened?”

Danny sucks at his bottom lip. “The Marshals checked your van. They found the leaflet. They didn’t think it could be the right one.” His expression lightens. “It’s got Bob’s Giant Peanuts on it, for crying out loud.”

“’The best peanuts on the whole of the East coast’” Steve replies, repeating from memory the leaflet he’s read more times than he can remember.

“Which would make more sense if we were actually on the coast. Or if Bob was actually called Bob.” Shaking his head, Danny leans closer. “Anyhow, you had a whole posse of US Marshals scratching their heads, trying to figure out if there’s some secret message in that leaflet. Me, I can’t take any chances, so I call Rachel and Grace, who then calls me to say—”

“—she’s the one who sent the leaflet?” Steve finishes for him, the snatches of conversation he just heard suddenly making sense.

“So you did hear us.” Danny runs his hand over his hair as he slumps back in his chair. Gesturing towards the door, he grimaces. “It was a shit-fest out there yesterday, babe. Half the Marshals wanted to shake your hand for helping to catch a gang of escaped fugitives who have murdered three civilians, and injured a lot more. The other half want to haul you out to their office in Atlanta for questioning because they don’t believe you could just wander in like that and take them out without insider information.”

“Damn.” He lets his eyes drift closed for a moment. A shield against Danny’s gaze. Disappointment and confusion are coursing through him, making it difficult to concentrate. This chaos is exactly what he’d been planning _not_ to happen. And Grace sending him the leaflet instead of Danny inviting him? His drug-fogged brain has no idea what to do with that.

“You okay, babe?”

Forcing his eyes open, he meets Danny’s gaze. The confusion he’s feeling is mirrored in Danny’s eyes. His disappointment grows. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Danny grabs his hand. It’s almost painful. “They’ll get over it.”

He appreciates Danny’s optimism but he’s pretty sure it’s misplaced. And soothing the feelings of the US Marshals Department isn’t something he gives a damn about right now. Another image in his head is demanding to be heard. “There was a police officer with me. They shot him and—”

“—and he’s fine. Thanks to you.” Danny smiles. It looks more genuine this time. “His name’s Billy Petersen. He’s a good kid.” The smile slips. “He’s only been out of the academy a few months.”

Steve exhales loudly. Until that moment he hadn’t been sure the police officer had made it. “You know him?”

Danny huffs. “Coalsville is a small town, babe. Everyone knows everyone.”

_Shit._ “And I just walked in there and—”

“—caused chaos.” Danny’s grin is back and this time it reaches his eyes. “What’s new?”

The grin is doing strange things to his stomach. It’s a sensation he never thought he’d get to enjoy again. But there’s something they’re skirting round. “Why did Grace contact me?” _Why didn’t you?_ “She knows the rules, Danny. Why now?”

Danny shrugs, with his body and his hands. “I don’t know, babe.”

He studies Danny’s face. It might have been five years but he still _knows_ that face. He’s trying to hide something. “What aren’t you telling me? Something’s wrong, isn’t it? Is it Charlie and Rachel—”

“—they’re fine.”

“Is it Stan? Did they find him? Has he done something—”

“He’s fine too.” Danny doesn’t sound thrilled about that. “Would you calm down please? We’re all fine.”

“Then why did Grace—"

“What I want to know,” Danny interrupts, with a wave of his hand, “is how she decided which leaflet to send you.”

Steve blinks at the blatant misdirection. It’s unsubtle. Even for Danny. “What?”

“I mean, it’s kind of cool, right?” Danny’s puffed his chest up, like a proud peacock. “She figured it out. It worked. You’re here.”

“Yeah. I’m here.” Despite the fear still eating away at him, he smiles. it’s impossible not to when faced with Danny’s obvious pride in his Gracie.

Damn. He’s _missed_ this.

“But you’re right,” Danny adds softly, his body deflating, “she shouldn’t have done it.”

Steve winces as his shoulder twitches. The fear is back in the room. Big time. “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve put you in danger.” He rubs his arm. It really is starting to hurt. “Give me a few days to get back on my feet and I’’ll go—”

Danny glares. “You’re still an idiot. Did I say I wasn’t pleased to see you?”

“Well—"

“Did you hear me say that to you?”

“Danny—”

“You know why you didn’t hear me say that?”

“Hang on—”

“Because it’s not true, Steven.” Danny finally takes a breath. A shaky one. “It’s great to see you, okay? Not all this,” he adds, waving at his face, at the machines, at the room they’re in, “but you, my friend, it’s great to see you.”

He studies the bed covers for a moment. He wants to be happy about this, he really does. But there’s no denying this whole situation has gone wrong. “They’ll be publicity.”

Danny grins. There’s a touch of evil about it. “Grant can sort it out.”

“Grant?” He frowns. He has a vague memory of someone else being in the room. “The guy who was here earlier? The Marshal?”

The smile gets wider. “He gets bored if he’s not busy.”

“Ah.” He forces himself to smile back. To keep his tone even. “Good to hear you’re making someone else’s life hell now.”

Danny meets his gaze. Holds it. Something flickers across his face. Unreadable. Seconds pass. Then he pulls away, his expression turning distance. Silence. Then he turns back. “I talked to Lou.”

Steve shakes his head. Aborts the movement as it reminds him he has a concussion. Settles for sighing to signal his displeasure at yet another change in subject. “Please tell me you didn’t give him all the details.”

“Just the highlights.” Danny studies him. His eyes come to rest on the bruises on his face. “He wants to know if he should call Mary.”

“No.” He winces, reminded he’s got a bruised jaw too. “Just…I’ll call her, okay? Later. When I’m out of here.”

“Sure.”

Danny trails off. Distracted. Stares at him, like he’s trying to memorise every inch of his face.

It would be disconcerting if he wasn’t doing the same to Danny. His brain feels like a plant that’s been denied water for too long and now it’s got it, it can’t stop drinking it in. The mental image of Danny he’s been carrying around for five years is slowly being updated. Aged. But underneath the fine wrinkles and greying hair it’s still Danny. _His_ Danny. He can’t look away, even if he wanted to.

“I got us breakfast. Oh. Sorry…”

As one, they jerk back. Standing in the doorway, Grace stares back at them. She’s carrying a tray, stacked high with coffee, a smoothie and pastries. It’s obvious from her face she’s been standing there a while.

Danny half gets to his feet, hands out to help, an automatic reaction. But Grace is there first. 

“I asked the nurse if you could have breakfast, Uncle Steve,” she explains lightly, like she hasn’t just interrupted an awkward moment. “She said you could have pastries but I figured you might want a smoothie instead.”

“Thanks,” he replies a little breathless. If anyone asks, he’ll say it’s because of his ribs. “I’ll take the smoothie.”

Helpfully, there’s a straw. The first sip of the ice cold liquid sends a shock through his bruised jaw. It’s delicious though – strawberry, mango and banana – so he perseveres. As it slides down he realises it’s the first thing he’s eaten since the pancakes in the diner, for breakfast. It feels like a lifetime ago.

The cup is soon empty. That small amount of excitement has made him feel tired suddenly. Quashing the urge to yawn – it’ll hurt like hell – he settles back down to watch Danny and Grace eat.

Now the initial shock of seeing Danny and Grace is wearing off, he starts taking in his surroundings. Grace is perched on a visitor chair: they look the same in every hospital he’s been. But the chair Danny’s sitting in is a recliner. And Danny’s hair do and badly creased shirt both suggest they’ve been slept in. “Did you…did you stay here last night?”

Danny shrugs, his attention on his coffee and pastry.

“And you think I’m an idiot.”

Danny shrugs again. Takes a large swig of his coffee. “They needed to wake you up every few hours. I figured I’d hang around in case you went all ninja on them.”

“ _Ninja_ on them? I wouldn’t have…” He trails off. Frowns. “I can’t remember them waking me up.”

“You were kind of out of it, babe.” 

“Oh.” He stares morosely at his empty cup. He hates being out of control.

A knock on the door offers interrupts his thought. A woman steps in. Slightly shorter than Danny, in her mid-forties, with short, dark curly hair and tanned skin, she’s wearing dark-rimmed glasses on the end of her nose and deep blue scrubs. A name badge is pinned to her blouse. ‘Dr Hernandez,’ he reads, squinting at the badge.

He’s been through this enough times to know what’s coming. So he listens with one ear as she runs through his list of injuries. Explains the symptoms he’s experiencing due to the concussion. There are no surprises, nothing he hasn’t had before. 

“Mr Miller? John? Do you have any questions?”

Steve blinks. Realises he’s been caught out. Danny sniggers.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Dr Hernandez continues, smoothly, her gaze sliding over each of them in turn.

Steve nods. Tries to look to look sorry. “So when can I get out of here?”

Dr Hernandez peers over the top of her glasses at him. “You’re going to need help for a week or so. You got somewhere to stay?”

Danny raises his hand, flashes him a look that dares him to speak. “He’s been living in a camper van.”

“Well that won’t do.”

He matches Danny’s look with one of his own: he’s grown fond of that van. And he’s _not_ fond of this hospital bed. “I’ll book into a motel for a few days.”

“Mr Miller, I don’t think—”

“He’ll be staying with us.” Grace pins Danny to the spot with a huge grin. “Right, Dad?” Suddenly Steve finds himself being grinned at too. “That’ll be fun won’t it, Uncle Ste…John?”

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. He’s never been able to deny Grace anything. “That’ll be…fun. Right, Danny?”

He holds his breath, ignores the twinge of his ribs. This is the moment of rejection, when he finds out Danny doesn’t want him here at all.

Danny rolls his eyes in his direction. “Sure. Why not. Like Grace says…it’ll be fun.”

H50H50H50

The journey to Danny’s house is not fun.

Steve enjoys a moment of light relief when Danny wheels him outside and they stop by a beaten up old Silverado. Danny’s veiled threat – “ _Don’t you dare say anything Steven. Not a word.”_ – is enough to cheer him up through the painful move from the wheelchair to the cab of the truck.

Ten minutes later though, he’s wishing he’d accepted Dr Hernandez’s offer of better drugs.

“Where the hell did you find this pile of junk?” he forces out through gritted teeth as they bounce over a hole in the road.

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Danny shoots back, one eye still on the road. “She just needs a few small...repairs….is all.”

“Really? Small repairs, huh? Like suspension?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her suspension.”

He opens his mouth to protest. But the worried looks Danny keeps throwing his way change his mind. Shifting so he can brace himself against the door, he goes with another tack. “I thought you didn’t like my truck, Danny.”

Danny raises a finger in warning: “I didn’t.”

“Yet here we are, riding in a Silverado – a _Silverado Danny –“_

“Look outside,” Danny interrupts, his finger stabbing at the air. “Those things out there? They’re called mountains, Steve. _Mountains._ And we have snow. Lots of snow—”

“We have snow in Hawaii.”

Danny’s answering huff speaks volumes. “You want to try and get my Camaro up here in winter go right ahead. Be my guest.”

“I don’t have your Camaro anymore.” The words have slipped out before he can stop. Trying for an apologetic shrug and failing – fuck, his shoulder hurts – he sighs instead. “It’s in the bottom of the Ala Moana Marina.”

“ _Steve—”_

“It wasn’t my fault. Tani was driving and she was trying to catch this guy in a fishing boat and—”

Danny looks horrified. “Please don’t tell me she’s down there too.”

“Of course not.” Instinctively he reaches out for Danny’s arm, offering touch to ease the pain in his friend’s voice. “I would have told you if they weren’t okay.”

Danny grips the steering wheel tighter. He lets out a shaky breath. “Damn, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Steve keeps his hand where it is, tells himself not to panic, not to pull back. “That’s an understatement.”

Danny huffs, looks like he’s about to say something. But then he’s indicating left, pulling them off the side of the road and up onto a steep winding track.

Suddenly it’s like they’re on a roller coaster, as the truck bounces and tilts its way up the mountain. Steve grits his teeth, tries to brace himself as they hit bump after bump. Beside him Danny keeps apologising, muttering under his breath. It’s probably no longer than five minutes. It feels like ten times longer than that.

Eyes closed, trying to catch his breath, it takes him a second to realise they’ve stopped. 

“You can let go now, babe.”

His eyes snap open. Danny’s gently unfolding his fingers, releasing them from the death grip he has on Danny’s arm. Danny’s sliding out of the cab before he can apologise. Then his own door is opening and Danny’s gently encouraging him to get out.

Getting out isn’t any easier than getting in. But Danny’s got another surprise up his sleeve to distract him. He squints, not believing his eyes. “You live in a log _cabin_?”

Danny slides easily under his good shoulder, slides his hand around his back. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can we please get inside before you fall over?”

Steve does as he’s told: it’s more of an order than a question. And Danny’s hand is pressing against his spine. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, he tries to ignore the shiver travelling up his spine.

Getting up the steps, onto the wrap around porch that runs around the edge of the cabin, takes a lot more effort than it should. When Danny opens the front door, steering him inside, he’s incredibly grateful he there’s to keep him upright. But still: “It’s a log cabin.”

“I think we’ve already figured that out,” Danny points out. There’s a hint of laughter in his voice that’s reflected in his eyes. “Where do you want to go, babe? Bed or couch.”

Kicking his aching brain into action, he looks around. He’s in a large room, obviously the main living space in the house. There are kitchen units along one wall and a breakfast bar. In another corner, there’s a dining table made of roughly cut wood. Two large comfy looking couches have been placed at right-angles to a wood burner and wide-screen TV. Steep wooden steps on one wall go up to a loft that overhangs half of the main room. Up in the loft it looks like there are three doors. The walls and floors are made of wood – it really is a cabin. The rawness of the wood has been softened with the use of colourful rugs and throw cushions.

In the middle of everything is a single bed. It’s covered in a flowery duvet and piled high with pillows. It looks incongruous amongst all the wood.

Danny follows his gaze. “We were worried you wouldn’t be able to make the stairs,” he explains, “at least not for a few days.”

Steve nods gratefully. He thought he’d had enough of lying in beds. It turns out he hasn’t: as Danny lowers him onto this one, he closes his eyes and sighs with relief. 

Danny clears his throat. “If Grace was here she’d tell me to warn you about the bathroom.”

He opens one eye. “You’ve got one, right?”

“Would it matter if I didn’t? I thought you were a Navy SEAL. You should be used to—”

“Oh God—”

Danny raises both hands. Surrendering. “I got a bathroom. Unlike you I need a few home comforts.” There’s an ominous pause. “It’s just..it’s outside.”

“Outside? Like outside, outside?”

Danny pretends to consider that. “Is there a different type?”

Groaning, Steve levers himself upright. Carefully swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Show me.”

H50H50H50

Danny’s right: the bathroom is outside.

Offering his services as a crutch again, Danny leads him back out the front door and along the porch. At the end they turn left and down a short flight of steps.

“Wait,” Steve gasps, coming to a halt. “Stop a second.”

“You okay, babe?”

He nods, lost for the words. The area around the cabin is breath-taking – literally. Tall pine trees are blocking out the full strength of the midday sun but underneath the canopy is a rich, dark-green carpet of plants and bushes. It’s damp, the air fresh. After two days in the hospital he breathes in its scent gratefully.

“Not bad, huh.” Danny’s surveying the area too, a small grin on his face. 

He shakes his head in disbelief. “How did you get this place?”

Danny nudges him with his shoulder, moving them on. “WITSEC. The US Marshal service repossessed it as part of a case. Used to belong to a group of survivalists,” he adds with a wiggle of eyebrows. “The bathroom used to have a moonshine distillery in it.” He studies Steve’s face. His grin grows. “Should have guessed it’d appeal to a neanderthal like you.”

“Haven’t seen the bathroom yet,” he grouses, his heart soaring at Danny’s chatter, despite being exhausted. “You better have something better than a hole in the ground.”

“So demanding,” Danny mutters under his breath but he’s still smiling as they reach another building. Much smaller than the cabin, it’s the same construction. “We’ve got water tanks and a borehole out the back of the property, solar panels too.” He opens the door, flicks on a switch, lighting the interior. “I think you’re gonna like this…”

Steve whistles under his breath. He hadn’t been joking when he said he was expecting a hole in the ground. Instead he’s looking at a small but cosy bathroom. There’s step-in shower in one corner, next to a toilet and a small sink. In the other corner there’s a wood burner. What’s really caught his attention though is a roll-top bath along the far wall. Surrounded by tall candles, it’s next to a small window that looks out into the forest.

“The bath might have to wait for a while,” Danny says doubtfully, as he follows the direction of his gaze. “Not unless you want to take all that strapping off.”

He looks down at his injured shoulder. The strapping runs across his back and around both shoulders. He’s not in any hurry to try and take it off. “Don’t tell me you designed this,” he says instead, gesturing at the bathroom, looking for distraction to the ache of his body. “It’s great.”

Danny huffs, mock-offended. “Grace might have helped.” Pulling open the cupboard under the sink, he starts pulling out supplies: a towel, a toothbrush and a half-used tube of toothpaste. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Taking the hint, Steve shuffles around the bathroom, using the facilities. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he runs his hand over the walls. They are rough, more like logs than planks of wood. It’s well-built, designed for the cold winters in the mountains.

His concussed brain is still finding it hard to accept that Danny lives here though. It just doesn’t sit right. It’s not something _his_ Danny would done. But Danny’s right – he is jealous. 

Slowly they limp and sway their way back to the main cabin. Just as they make it back to the front of the house the silence is shattered by the sound of a car bouncing up the mud track.

Instincts kick in. Automatically he reaches for a gun that’s not there.

“Calm down. It’s Grace,” Danny explains, covering his hand. Stilling it. “She’s bringing dinner.”

He tells himself to relax but it’s difficult with Danny touching him. He can hear his heart beating in his head. It feels like it’s going to explode.

Grace’s car appears – an old Chevrolet Impala that’s obviously covered a lot of miles. Grace parks, pops out of the driver’s side. Grinning she waves a selection of take-away bags at them.

Danny doesn’t remove his hand. Worse, he slides it down to rest on his hip.

“Let’s get you inside,” Danny says, oblivious to the emotional maelstrom that’s going on next to him. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

He’s perspiring by the time they make it inside. Not all the sweat is due to the ridiculous amount of effort it’s taken to walk that short distance. When Danny lowers him back on the bed it’s both a relief and a disappointment. 

“You’re looking better,” Grace tells him cheerfully, already unpacking the food on the breakfast bar. “I got us pasta and garlic bread. I hope that’s okay.”

Distracted, he nods. If Danny doesn’t seem quite like _his_ Danny then watching Grace is an even stranger experience. This version is so confident. Self-assured. She’s still got her lovely smile, the infectious energy that she gets from her Dad. But there’s a place deep in his heart that’s mourning the loss of the Grace _he_ knew. The Grace who loved bear hugs and pancakes for breakfast.

“Uncle Steve?”

He blinks. Comes back to the present. Danny and Grace are both watching him, with differing levels of concern.

“I think we’ve scrambled his brain,” Danny says, the worry in his eyes belying his light tone. “Let’s eat.”

Steve takes the bowl of pasta and garlic bread he’s offered. Cautiously, he takes his first bite. His jaw twinges but the discomfort is rewarded with the taste of tomato, basil and garlic. The sauce is rich and tasty. Dunking the garlic bread in it makes it more manageable. By the time he’s finished it his jaw is unhappy but he’s comfortably full.

The carbohydrates in the pasta soon kick in, and he feels drowsy. He’s on the verge of dropping off to sleep when Danny rattles a pill bottle under his nose. Blindly he swallows the pills he’s offered, chased down with a glass of ice cold water.

Settling back down, he closes his eyes. Gradually the pain killers start working. Tense muscles start to relax. His mind starts to float with them, only vaguely aware of what’s going on around him.

As he slips gradually towards unconsciousness, the last thing he hears is Danny and Grace quietly talking, Grace giggling at something Danny’s said.

Smiling faintly to himself, he falls asleep.

TBC


	11. Steve

When Steve wakes again, it’s dark inside the cabin. Desktop lamps on the breakfast bar and dining table are throwing out soft halos of lights. The wood burner is giving out an orange glow. Turning his head reminds him he’s not only got a bruised jaw and a concussion, his shoulder is screwed up too. Breathing carefully, he tries again.

There’s no sign of Grace. But Danny’s stretched out on the sofa. Fully dressed, hair flopping over his forehead, he’s curled around a pillow, his legs covered by a knitted patchwork quilt.

Everything’s been so confusing since he woke up in the hospital. He hasn’t had a chance to study Danny closely. He takes that opportunity now. He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Danny he looked older. But that’s not a bad thing. He looks leaner and, in sleep, calmer like he’s at peace with himself. The grey flecks in his beard, in his hair, they make him look even more handsome than he remembers.

He looks _rugged._

“That’s creepy, babe.” 

Surprised, Steve jerks back, like he’s been stung.

Danny opens one eye. Raises an eyebrow at him. “Want to tell me what you’re thinking there?”

_No. Because rugged isn’t a word he’s ever going to say out loud._ “I was just thinking…I need the bathroom again.”

As distractions go, it’s an effective one. Danny’s up in flash, helps him groan his way back onto his feet. Then they’re off again – limping and swaying their way outside. It’s colder this time – they can see their breath – so neither of them hang around for long. Soon they’ve back in the warmth of the cabin.

“What time is it?” he asks, as Danny lowers him back down again.

“Late. Grace has gone to bed.” Danny hesitates, indecision written across his face. You gonna be comfortable like that or you want to lose some layers? 

He looks down at himself. The tee-shirt he’s wearing over the shoulder brace is okay to sleep in. The jeans and trainers he’s wearing, not so much. “I can manage.”

The ground floor of the cabin is open plan. Privacy is in short supply. Danny wanders over to the kitchen area. Pretends to tidy up.

Trying to curl up, to reach your feet and take off your sneakers, isn’t a good idea when your ribs are fucked, he suddenly remembers. Flopping back on the bed, he breathes heavily.

“You’re a putz,” Danny mutters but he’s already back. Untying laces, carefully sliding off shoes and socks. He hesitates at the jeans but Steve waves him on, after undoing the belt himself. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before, he thinks vaguely, as Danny gently nudges him on the hip to slide the jeans over them. He’s too fucking tired to be embarrassed. Hell, he even too fucking tired to be excited about Danny’s touch.

That doesn’t stop him from closing his eyes though as Danny pulls up the sheets over him; catching Danny’s gaze, he can’t do that right now.

The floorboards squeak as Danny heads back to the sofa.

He opens his eyes again. “You’re not sleeping there. You’ve got to have a bed in here somewhere, right?”

“Still the control freak,” Danny shoots back, thumping his pillow into submission. There’s no heat in the words though. They’re fond rather than mean. “Go to sleep, Steven.”

“Whatever you say, Daniel,” he mutters back, his eyes already closing against his will.

In his apartment back in Hawaii, he can always hear at least one of his neighbours or someone’s TV. Danny’s cabin seems eerily quiet. Around him the wood is creaking, moving with the sound of the wind. Over all of it he can hear Danny breathing.

It’s strangely calming. 

Except, it would be if his brain would stop reminding him that Danny didn’t send the money or the leaflet. Grace did. As he drifts back to sleep, that thought’s still running around in his mind.

H50H50H50

The next time he wakes up, he really feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Every bruised muscle is cramping, robbing him of his breath. Eyes closed, teeth gritted he tries to ride out the wave of pain.

When it finally eases to a more manageable level he opens his eyes, tries to drag in a deep breath. His ribs twitch, a wave effect from his shoulder to his hip. Rolling carefully onto his side, he bites his lip and levers himself upright.

Hunched over, he takes stock of his situation. He feels grubby and sweaty, a couple of days of growth of beard making his skin itch. The tee-shirt he’s been wearing for more than a day is rubbing his skin under the shoulder brace. He’s wearing boxer shorts and socks and the skin on his bare legs goosepimples in the cool air.

The sofa is empty, the blanket neatly folded with the pillow on the top. The cabin is quiet. Through the windows on either side of the front door he can see the sun rising. Listening hard, he can hear the sound of birds singing.

His bladder reminds him he hasn’t been to the bathroom for hours. His jeans and shoes are on a chair next to the dining table. He considers putting them on and dismisses it. 

From experience he knows that, apart from the concussion headache, it’s nothing that coffee and a couple of pain pills can’t cure. Annoyed at his own weakness he pushes himself to his feet. The world wobbles, rights itself. Pulling a blanket off his bed he awkwardly throws it over his shoulders and heads outside.

Danny’s sitting on a chair on the porch. Dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans and sneakers, his hair neatly brushed back, he looks like he’s been awake for a while. He’s on the phone, his eyebrows pulled together into a deep frown. When he sees Steve he finishes the call quickly. Getting to his feet, he waves Steve to another chair. “Why didn’t you yell?”

Steve eyes the chair suspiciously. Sitting back down is going to hurt like hell. It’s only the view that makes him take up Danny’s offer: it’s amazing. 

“I’m good,” he grunts as Danny sticks out a steadying hand.

“No you’re not.” Danny tilts his head, studying him. “You’re missing your usual sunny disposition. Let me guess, everything hurts.”

He fixes his gazes on the sun, rising over the giant trees. Danny’s not wrong. “You go in. I’m gonna stay out here for a while.”

Danny mutters something Steve can’t quite hear, before marching back into the cabin. Annoyed with himself for annoying Danny, he massages his sore shoulder. Stretching out his aching leg, he watches the sunrise. It’s not Hawaii – he’s cold and the sky is pale blue, not cobalt – but it’s beautiful anyway.

He’s thought a lot over the years about what Danny might be doing. But every scenario, it’s had him living in a city. To him, in his head, Danny’s always been a city boy. Even in Hawaii he was always more comfortable in Honolulu. This place is amazing but it’s yet another thing he has to get his head round. 

“Stand up.”

Danny’s voice drags him back to the present. As the world comes back focus he realises Danny’s back and he’s holding up a huge tartan blanket. When Danny wiggles it at him, he understands what’s going on. “I can do it,” he insists, grabbing a corner with his good hand. 

Danny huffs, tugs it out of his hand. “I was right. We’re at the grumpy stubborn stage. The stage where you’re hurting but you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

Steve grabs back the corner of blanket. “I’m not stubborn.”

Danny deftly flips the rest of the blanket around his shoulders, pulls it around this body. “Really? Cause that’s not how I see it.”

He wraps his good arm across his chest as Danny starts tucking the blanket in around him. “Let me guess – you’re gonna tell me exactly how you see it.”

“Good guess.” Danny finishes tucking him in then takes the other seat. “Right now you’re wishing you were somewhere else. On your own. Hiding in a cave like a big angry bear--”

“A _what_?”

“Am I wrong?”

The fact that Danny can still read him so well doesn’t make him as happy as it should. “What if I am?”

“All I’m saying is, would it kill you to ask for help?”

_Yes._ “I’ve had worse.”

“Fine,” Danny shoots back, his hands darting out to illustrate his growing frustration. “How about we get back in my truck – my pile of shit truck – and I’ll bounce you all the way back into town. We’ll get you a room at the motel and in the morning, when you can’t bend down to get your pants on you can go find a strange to stare at your junk while they help you get dressed. You wanna do that Steve? Huh? Huh?”

He’s forgotten how mad Danny gets when he’s worried. It’s kind of nice to have it directed at him. Even being folded into the blanket like a burrito suddenly doesn’t feel so bad. “I’m sick,” he replies deadpan, unable to stop the corner of his lips from flicking upwards. “You should be nice to me.”

“You think?” Danny replies equally deadpan.

“Maybe? You know, just a little bit?”

“Sick in the head,” Danny mutters as he gets up, but there’s a trace of a smile on his face too. “I’ll put the coffee on. Grace will be up soon.”

Steve watches him go. Allows his smile to slip now that Danny’s gone back inside. The pain’s not just making him grumpy. It’s also making his brain foggy, just when it needs to be razor-sharp.

Thoughts slip out of his grip as soon as he catches them. His gaze drifts, catching movement in the trees. As he watches, a deer comes out of the undergrowth, mist wrapped around its hooves. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, it lowers its head to chew at the grass.

Emotion clogs in his throat. The peace of this place is sinking into his skin. Tugging the blanket closer around him, he watches it eat.

The front door opens again, squeaking on its hinges. He raises a finger to his lips, to warn Danny but Danny’s already ahead of him, carefully closing the door while deftly juggling a tray of coffee mugs.

“She comes by every morning,” Danny whispers, watching the deer as he carefully treads his way across the porch. “Here you go.”

Steve takes a coffee mug. Tucking it under the blanket, he nurses it against his chest, warming the blanket cocoon that Danny has trapped him in. There is a bottle of pills on the tray too. Ignoring them, he turns his attention back to the view. “This is amazing, Danny.”

Danny takes a sip of his coffee, winces as it goes down. “The view from your house isn’t that bad either.”

He watches the deer, transfixed. She has no fear of them at all. “My house?”

“Yeah. You know the beach. The sea.”

“I don’t live there anymore.” Steve blinks. He hadn’t meant to confess that.

Danny is staring back at him, shocked. “Since when?”

“A few years.”

Danny’s mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish. “Why? I mean…how? What happened?”

He huffs. More at himself than Danny; he knew Danny wouldn’t take the news well. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You loved that house.”

_You weren’t in it._ “I bought myself a small apartment.”

Danny puts his coffee down. “How small?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

The determined note in Danny’s voice is familiar. There’s no point in trying to resist. “It’s big enough for me and Eddie.” Mentally crossing his fingers behind his back, he adds, “and it’s next to the sea.”

Danny’s expression makes it clear he has questions. “Next to the sea? I’m pretty sure real estate prices in Hawaii haven’t dropped that much in five years. Did you get a pay rise? A very big pay rise?”

He turns his attention back to the deer. He scans the treeline: she’s gone. “The walk to the beach takes a little longer than it did before.” His gaze slides back to Danny. “It was just a house.”

Danny throws his arms wide. “I dunno…I guess…all this time I’ve been imagining you living in that house. Grilling steaks for the team. Playing with Eddie in the yard. Going for your stupidly long swim every morning.” His tone has turned wistful. “You and Eddie in an apartment sounds…lonely.”

“We get by. Anyway,” Steve adds quickly - Danny’s interrogation on his living arrangements is making him squirm. “I always imagined you’d be holed up in a city somewhere. I never figured you’d be living somewhere like…this.”

“I didn’t either.” That wistful tone is back in Danny’s voice again. “It was only going to be for a few months.”

“So what made you stay?”

Danny shrugs. “Why not?”

He frowns. That doesn’t seem like a good reason to stay anywhere. And he’s rapidly coming to hate that wistful tone: it’s reminding him how Danny sounded when he first met him in Hawaii all those years ago. This isn’t how he imagined Danny’s life in Georgia at all.

Before he can call him on it, the front door opens and Grace wanders out.

Steve grins. Widely. At last, here is something that hasn’t changed: Grace still isn’t a morning person. Hair stacked up messily on the top of her head, she’s dressed in plaid pyjamas and a pink fluffy dressing gown and slippers. In her hands she’s clutching a mug of coffee like her life depends on it. Shuffling across the porch, eyes half-closed, it’s as if she’s still asleep.

“Morning,” she mutters as she gets to him, leans down to kiss him on the cheek, then shuffles on. Repeating the kiss with Danny, she takes a seat. Sipping the coffee, she yawns widely. “Did I miss Rita?”

“Rita’s the deer,” Danny explains. “Don’t ask.”

He nods. He can’t talk. Grace’s early morning shuffle. The kiss on the cheek. It has stirred so many memories. Things he’d forced himself to forget. Risking a glance over at Danny, he catches the sadness that crosses his face. Ducking his head back down, he looks away. 

“Did I miss something?” Grace asks into the heavy silence. “I heard you guys arguing out here.”

Danny rouses himself. “We weren’t arguing. We were having a discussion between two,” he hesitates, “sane adults.”

Grace laughs. “Which for you two is arguing.”

Danny retrieves his coffee, takes a large gulp. “Steve doesn’t live in his house anymore.”

The laugher drains out of Grace’s face. “What? I don’t…but I sent the leaflets there.”

“So how did Steve get them?” Danny’s voice has gone up an octave. “I thought you’d sent them to Five-0.”

“Calm down.” Steve curses as he tries to get his arm and his coffee mug out of the blanket. The thing is trying to eat him alive. “Mary lives in it, okay? She gave the letters to me.”

“Mary?” Danny’s glaring at him. “You didn’t say Mary had moved in.”

“Well I would have done if you’d given me a chance,” he shoots back, cursing again as his arm pops free, sending coffee swishing over the top of the mug. 

Instantly, Danny’s on his feet. “Here, give me that.”

He tries to keep hold of his coffee but it’s a futile attempt. Danny’s fussing again, rearranging the blanket, rescuing the coffee. Over Danny’s shoulder, Grace is grinning back at him, clearly not inclined to help him make Danny stop. “Traitor,” he mouths and grins back as more shared memories come back.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny tells them both in mock warning as he offers Steve a couple of pills. “You’re due another dose.”

He considers declining. Wiggles his eyebrows instead as he dry-swallows them down. “Thanks,” he says, grinning again as Danny gives him back his coffee. 

Danny drops back into his chair. Sliding down into it, he retrieves his own drink. “So Mary and Joanie live in the house.”

“Mary, Joanie, Alika and baby Kalei,” Steve corrects, watching their faces for their reactions.

Grace gets it first. “Mary’s got a boyfriend? And they’ve had a baby?”

“They adopted Kalei,” he explains, letting the pride he’s feeling show in his voice. “They got married three years ago.”

He’s expecting an excited reaction. It’s not what he gets.

Grace curls back into her chair, pulls her feet up the edge of the chair, wrapping her arms around here knees. “We missed it.”

Guilt shoots through him. “I thought about it, Grace, I really did—”

“It’s okay, babe.”

Danny’s leant across, to rest his hand on his chair. Steve shifts under the blanket, shuffling closer. They all know it’s not okay but this is their lives now; a parade of family events and special occasions where it feels like there are empty seats that you wish were filled by those you miss the most. 

“You like him?”

He drags himself back into the conversation. “Who?”

“Alika,” Danny repeats, seriously. “Is he good to Mary?”

“Do you think I would have let him marry her if he wasn’t?” he jokes. But his chest is tight with emotion: Danny’s always treated Mary like one of his little sisters. He loves him for that. 

Danny holds his gaze for a moment. Then, abruptly, he gets to his feet. “I’ll get more coffee and then Steve can tell us all about the wedding, right Grace?”

As Danny disappears back inside, Grace pulls up the collar of her dressing gown and snuggles back into it. She looks seventeen again. “I miss Hawaii.” She sighs, meets his gaze. “I miss you.”

Steve’s chest tightens at the sadness in her eyes. Every bit of him wants to hug her. “I miss you too. All of you.”

Grace’s eyes track where Danny has just gone. “He pretends he’s fine here but he’s not.”

He swallows hard. This is _nothing_ like the life he’s been imaging Danny’s been living. Part of him feels like it’s his fault. “Grace. Is that why…is that why you sent the money and the leaflet? How bad is it?”

Grace’s expression changes to guilty, flipping quickly to frustration. 

He opens his mouth to ask another question, when the front door swings open again and Danny appears, carrying a French press filled with coffee. When he looks back at Grace she’s fixed a smiled on her face. Damn.

Unaware of what’s happening around him, Danny refills all the mugs and sits back down. The corner of his lips flick up. “Continue.”

Steve takes the hint. Taking Grace’s lead, he tugs the blankets around him and tells them about Mary and Alika’s wedding. He tells them about Joanie’s star turn as the ring carrier. And the way Eddie had flopped down in front of everyone and gone to sleep as they’re repeated their vows. Half way through, Grace goes back indoors and finds his phone for him so he can show them all the pictures he took too. 

By the end of his picture-show with running-commentary, Grace has moved her chair to be on one side of him, her head resting on his shoulder. Danny is leaning against him, to get a better view. His heart sinks though when he realises they’ve gone quiet. Reaching the last photo – one of Mary, Alika, Joanie and Kalei sprawled in a laughing heap on the beach behind the house – he switches off his phone.

“It looks like they have a great day,” Danny says softly into the silence.

“They did.” He hesitates, feeling like he’s walking on quick sand. “Maybe we could call them later. I know they’d love to see you.”

Danny pushes away, runs his palm over his face. “That’d be good. Really good.”

He dips his head down so he can see Danny’s face. “You okay there?”

“It’s just…weird that’s all.” Danny lets out a shuddering sigh. “Wow. Things have really changed, huh?”

“Yeah.” He matches Danny’s sigh. Looking at the photos again reminds him how much it feels like everyone is getting on with their lives while his is going nowhere. Squashing that thought – he really isn’t in the right mood to deal with it - he turns his attention to the other side of his chair. “Gracie? You okay?”

Grace stretches. Wrapping the gown around her body, she gets to her feet. “It really is good to see you, Uncle Steve,” she whispers, leaning down to kiss him again. “I need to get dressed. I’ll see you later.”

Danny watches her leave, his forehead creased in a worried V. “College,” he explains as he slumps back in his chair. “She’s got classes this afternoon; she’s got to go back.”

Steve’s brain blanks out for a second. Apparently, it’s still not adapting well to the constant surprises. “College?”

Danny expression morphs into fatherly pride. “Criminology.” He meets Steve’s eyes. “She wants to be a police officer.”

_Shit._ “You look pleased.”

Danny hesitates before answering. “I’m not gonna lie. I tried to make her change her mind but you know she takes after her Mom. She’s stubborn.”

He can’t hold back a snort. “You think she got that from Rachel?”

Danny eyes him sideways. “Rachel wasn’t happy. We had a few difficult weeks back then.”

“I’m surprised she agreed.”

Now it’s Danny’s turn to snort. “She didn’t. But Grace’s over twenty-one. It’s her choice. I mean, she’s still got to get accepted and make it through the academy but I doubt that’s gonna stop her.”

_Over twenty-one._ Disbelief has him shaking his head. “I just can’t believe…” Taking a breath, he tries again. “So what’s she got her heart set on? Atlanta PD or New Jersey?”

Danny’s proud smile appears again. “How did you know? New Jersey of course and then…” He pauses, chews at his bottom lip. “She’s thinking that maybe she could transfer to Hawaii.”

He feels like someone’s pulled the chair from beneath him. “Danny—”

Danny shrugs. Suddenly he looks smaller. “She wants to go home.”

Steve wrestles his arm free, rests his hand on top of Danny’s. “We’d look after her, you know that.” He swallows hard, hope waring with fear. “What about you and Charlie. Could you…I mean maybe…”

Danny stares down at their hands. “Charlie’s got years of school still.”

_Which means Danny’s not coming home._

“Rachel and I have talked about it.” Danny’s voice is so low he can barely hear it. “Grant’s sure Stan’s a low level risk now but she’s still scared.” Danny raises his eyes. They’re begging for understanding. “I can’t leave them.”

“It’s okay, Danny.” He drags up a weak smile from deep in his heart. It’s not alright, not by a long way. He hadn’t come here expecting to take Danny back to Hawaii with him. But just for a second there had been a glimmer of hope… _Damn it._

“You’ve got to be cold sitting there.” Danny’s pulling his hand away and getting up. “How about we get you back inside and cleaned up.”

TBC


	12. Steve

Steve goes where he’s led. The dark mood that he woke up with is back again. There’s a part of him that’s telling him to enjoy this, to not think too far ahead. But there’s another part – the louder part – that’s reminding him how much it hurt last time to say goodbye and is putting up defences against the pain he thinks is coming his way.

It’s difficult though when Danny rewraps him in the blanket so carefully, so he can walk to the bathroom. It’s even harder when Danny removes the arm brace with such care and helps him out of the tee-shirt, anger flashing across his face as he sees what’s underneath. “Bastards.”

Steve averts his eyes from the mirror. He doesn’t need to see the damage to know where it is. “The Marshals will get them.”

Danny turns on the shower. Sticking his hand under the water, he frowns. “Grant called. They’re still searching.” His face darkens as he glances over at Steve again. “They’re not going to hurt anyone else.”

“Good.” He means it but his own lack of action is still not sitting right with him. He’s used to being the one rounding up the bad guys. Who makes sure people can sleep peacefully at night.

“No, you can’t go over there and take part in the man hunt,” Danny grumbles as he sticks his hand under the water again and nods approvingly. “It’s warm now. Do you…do you want any help?”

“I wasn’t going to do that,” he grumbles back. He eyes the shower. He’s pretty sure he can manage it.

“I’ll wait outside,” Danny replies, as if reading his mind. “The hot water is gonna last longer than three minutes but I wouldn’t push it past eight.”

As the door closes behind Danny, he sags against the sink. The pain killers have kicked in – everything’s gone fuzzy around the edges – but it doesn’t mean nothing hurts. Bruised flesh and broken bones is never a comfortable combination. Despite sleeping he’s still exhausted: mentally as well as physically. 

_Suck it up,_ he tells himself angrily. He’s bounced back from worse. The trouble is, as he shimmies his hips to let his boxer shorts slide to the floor, his bad leg reminds him who’s boss with a sharp twinge of pain. Cursing under his breath, he steps into the shower.

The water is luke warm rather than hot but that’s probably a blessing. He’s not sure his bruises are up to that. There are a selection of half-used shower products. Picking a white bottle which promises the scent of Hawaiian coconut (and he’s really got to ask Danny about that) he pours out a palmful and rubs it roughly through his hair and over his body. 

With only working shoulder and a bunch of fractured ribs the wash is only cursory but it’s the best shower he’s had for a while. Closing his eyes he tips his head back and lets the water run over him. It’s so good to be _warm_ again.

Danny’s right though: eight minutes is the limit. When the water starts to cool he turns off the shower and steps out. Suddenly he’s aware of how cold the air is. Shivering, he grabs a towel off a pile on the shelf. Quickly he realises he’s got a problem: one-handed, unable to twist or reach back, he’s never going to be able to dry himself off. 

“Fuck.”

All the frustration he’s feeling is in that single word. He’s not surprised when he gets an instant reply. “Steve? You okay in there?”

Grabbing another towel, he awkwardly knots it around his waist. He’s just in time; the door’s opening and Danny’s peering round.

Danny takes in the situation instantly. “We got this,” he soothes. “Sit down and let me do if for you.”

Danny shakes out another towel, lays it over his, Steve’s, shoulders. Another one follows: it goes over his head. A third towel goes over his knees.

“The first winter we were here I didn’t have heating in here,” Danny explains as he rubs at the towel over his head. “Wrapping yourself in towels, it was the only way to stay warm. I get now why Rachel always wanted the thick fluffy towels that cost double the ones in Walmart.”

Underneath the towels, Steve hums his agreement. Danny’s massaging his hair dry gently: it feels _so_ good. His mind drifts, embracing all the good sensations. Danny’s hands slip lower, drying his back in small rhythmic circles. He grits his teeth as Danny’s hands ghost over his injured shoulder, moving down to his bruised ribs. It’s not necessary though, his touch is so gentle it’s barely there.

A moment later he’s gritting his teeth again but for a different reason. Danny’s hand is sliding lower. He tenses, willing his body not to respond. He’s grateful that the towel is still over his head, so he can’t see Danny. There’s no way he’ll be able to hide his feelings if Danny can see his face.

Danny freezes. Exhales loudly. Moves lower, past the towel wrapped round his waist and down to his legs.

Closing his eyes, he breathes out slowly. Danny drying his legs certainly isn’t as erotic. But the way Danny’s running his fingers over the scar on his leg is still doing strange things to his emotions. When Danny gently places his hand over the scar, rests it there for a moment, he has to swallow down a sob. He doesn’t need to look at Danny’s face to see the anguish there: he can hear it in his breathing, in the way he’s holding his body.

“The doctors, they did a good job,” he says quietly, in an attempt to reassure Danny.

Danny huffs and moves lower.

The soles of his feet are ticklish. A shiver runs down his spine as Danny dries each foot in turn. Danny’s so careful, so precise, drying each toe and checking under the sole. It feels amazing, warms his blood. But all too soon it’s over, and the wooden floorboards are creaking as Danny gets to his feet.

“You okay to do the rest, babe?”

Still hidden under the towels, Steve nods. Sitting on the chair, he can dry his ass and crotch area without help.

“Don’t move. I’ll get you some clothes.”

The floorboards creak. Cold air sneaks into the room as the door opens and closes.

He pulls the towel off his head. Breathes deeply. Tipping his head back, he rests it against the wall. His body is fizzing with mixed emotions. If he wasn’t on pain drugs he’s pretty sure he would have embarrassed himself with a very visible sign of his feelings for Danny.

He must drift off for a while because suddenly Danny’s back. 

Danny puts a pile of clothes down. “Your clothes are still in your truck,” he explains, apologetically. “Grant says we can collect them this afternoon. For now I found you some things of mine. Hopefully they’ll fit.”

When he’d got on the plane to fly to Georgia he hadn’t ever imagined he’d be wearing Danny’s plaid shirts. He definitely hadn’t imagined wearing Danny’s boxer shorts. But ten minutes later (and a lot of swearing – the arm brace is a son of a bitch to put back on with injured ribs) that’s exactly what’s happening.

As they limp and sway their way back to the main cabin, they find Grace leaning against her car waiting for them. Her hair is still pinned up on the top of her head in a messy knot but she’s dressed. Beside her, on the hood of the car, is her overnight bag.

“Did he tell you not to stay in there for longer than eight minutes?” she asks as they come to a halt in front of her.

“She doesn’t think it’s long enough,” Danny grouches, raising his eyebrows in his direction.

Standing up, she gives Danny a hug. “Which is why I’m going now so I can have a whole fifteen minutes in the shower before classes. _Fifteen.”_

“Don’t expect any sympathy from this big lug,” Danny tells her as she pulls away. “He thinks three minutes is too long. Mind you, the plumbing in your house hadn’t been updated since the 1950’s, right Steve?”

Steve considers telling Danny that the plumbing in his new apartment is even worse. Dismisses it: he hasn’t got the energy for that conversation. And anyway, there’s something much more important to discuss with Grace: “I will…I will see you again, right?”

He hates how wobbly his voice sounds. Before he can fix it Grace is wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a gentle hug. Wrapping his good arm around her shoulders, he hugs back.

“I’ll be back on Friday,” she promises him, as she pulls away. She’s blinking. Her eyes look suspiciously bright. “You’ll…still be here?”

He risks a glance over at Danny. All they’ve talked about is the few days he needs to stay here for his recovery.

Danny rolls his eyes skywards. “You’re an idiot, Steve. Of course he’ll still be here,” he continues, leaning in to kiss Grace on the cheek. “I talked to you Mom this morning. I’ve got Charlie this weekend.”

Steve’s heart stops. “Charlie? He’ll be here?”

Grace picks up her overnight bag. “Don’t get too excited,” she says, tip toeing to place a kiss on his cheek. “He’s not seven any more. I’ll see you both on Friday.”

“Drive carefully,” Danny yells as she backs the car out and heads down the track. Grace waves back, blows them a kiss. The thump, thump, thump of loud music echoes through the trees as she disappears from sight, dirt flying as she spins the wheels.

Danny meets his gaze. “She drives like you.”

His heart skips happily at that idea. “What did she mean about Charlie?”

Danny slides his shoulder under his good arm and nudges him towards the front door. “He’s almost twelve going on seventeen.” He pulls a face. “Let’s just say he’s embracing being a teenager.”

“Oh.” Steve lets himself be steered back inside, to the bed. The idea that Charlie’s almost twelve – let alone behaving like a teenager – just isn’t working in his brain. A wave of sadness hits him. “I’m guessing he doesn’t like building sandcastles on the beach anymore.”

Danny slumps on the sofa. Their knees are almost touching. “Not so much.” He rubs his hands across his face. Checks the time on his phone. “I gotta go to work for a while. I’ll pick up your stuff from the van. You gonna be okay on your own?”

Steve looks at the room around him. At the log cabin that he still can’t get into his head is Danny’s. Now he’s properly awake he can appreciate the things that are missing. Danny wears his heart on his sleeve, he’s sentimental. But there’s none of that here. There are no family photos: his house in Hawaii had them everywhere. There are no gifts on display from his family in New Jersey. 

He needs to understand this new life Danny’s built for himself, to reassure himself that Grace’s got nothing to worry about. He’s not going to find it here. “I’m coming with you.”

“You sure?”

He’s not. Danny’s truck really does need new shocks. He slowly get to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Danny eyes him warily from his seat on the couch. “If that’s what you want.” Grabbing the pillows from the bed, he gets up too. “Let’s get your shoes and a jacket on and we’ll head out.”

H50H50H50

Steve’s jaw is aching with clenching it so hard as they bounce their way back down the mountain. Danny’s driving like a 90 year old granny with vision problems as he tries to navigate his way around the potholes in the dirt.

“Just floor it,” he grinds out after they almost get stuck, causing the truck to bounce even more. “Please.”

Danny throws him a worried glance but does as he’s told. As the truck surges forward, Steve grabs the edge of his seat with his good hand and holds on. Danny’s packed pillows around him to cushion his bad shoulder and ribs so the journey’s not as bad as the day before, but it’s a close run thing.

It’s a huge relief when they make it to the main highway. By the time they drive into town, his breathing is almost back under control. His body though is aching like hell.

“So what’s so special about Bob’s Famous Peanuts?” he asks, looking for a distraction and finding it as they cruise past the store with a giant peanut statue outside with Bob’s face on it.

“Nothing,” Danny explains, with a small grin. “His real name’s Rudy. The store is named after his Dad. He set the store up in the 1970’s when the town first decided to attract tourists to the mountains and the river. He figured people would need something to eat.”

“So he set up a _peanut_ store?”

Danny shrugs. “Apparently it’s a thing. During the season he gets coachloads of tourists in there.”

“Okay.” Steve shakes his head, grinning. “You got any other recommendations for what I can do while I’m here?”

Danny eyes him for a moment. The smile has gone. His expression is shuttered. Unreadable. “There’s good food. Local producers. We’ve got some nice restaurants,” he says, turning his attention back on the road. “There’s antique stores. Mostly people come for the mountains. Hiking. Hunting. White water rafting—”

“White water rafting?”

Danny glares at the arm brace he’s wearing. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’ve never done white water rafting—”

“And you’re not doing it now.”

Steve grins. His heart’s singing at the challenge in Danny’s voice. “It’d be fun. You could come with—”

“Don’t even say it—”

“You don’t know what I was going to say—"

Danny glares at him again. Hand waving, he’s puffed up with mock-indignation. “You were going to invite me along and I’m not doing it. I’ve seen what they do down there. They put you in itty bitty little boats—”

“Canoes, Danny.”

“Tiny boats. Tiny. And then they throw you in the river—”

Steve chuckles to himself. “Here we go…”

“There are rocks as big as my cabin down there, Steven. It’s dangerous, only an idiot would do it.”

“Someone like me then?”

“Exactly someone like you.” Danny stops. Sighs. Deflates. “I don’t do that stuff anymore.”

His heart sinks at the tired resignation in Danny’s voice. It’s a feeling he recognises only too well. “Then maybe you should start again.”

Steve’s stomach cramps with tension as Danny flicks down the indicator, turns left at the next junction: this part of the town is familiar to him. They’re driving past the diner he ate breakfast in, just before all hell broke loose.

“You okay, babe?”

They’ve pulled up behind the diner, a few spaces away from where he’d parked his van. Danny’s gripping the steering wheel with both hands. His knuckles are white.

He forces himself to nod. To reassure even though he doesn’t feel reassured himself. It’s not that he’s back at the scene of a crime – where he was violently attacked – that’s unnerved him. It’s Danny’s body language that’s got him on edge. The lack of hip swagger as he walks round to his side of the truck, to help him out.

Danny’s worried about something.

“Where’s my van?” he asks, in an attempt to relieve the tension: Danny’s hovering, twitching with the need to help as he painfully unfolds himself out of the truck. 

“Local PD have got it,” Danny replies, sounding distracted as they slowly walk back to the main street, side by side. “It’s just up the road. We’ll go there next.”

Steve nods but they’re at the front of the diner and Danny’s pulling out a set of keys. He watches with growing confusion as Danny unlocks the door, and waves him in.

He comes to an inevitable conclusion. “You work here?”

Danny’s flashes him a nervous grin. “Kind of.”

Before Danny can explain, the door to the kitchen swings opens. Light and a rush of warm air flows out. A woman appears. Around Danny’s height, with short curly hair and pale skin, she looks like she’s in her early thirties. 

He recognises her instantly: it’s the woman Meryl went to speak to in the kitchen when he asked after Danny, using his alias. From the way she looks at him, it’s obvious she recognises him too.

“I thought you weren’t coming in today,” Danny says, smiling at the woman, opening his arms wide. “You should have called me. I would have come in to help.”

As Steve looks on, the woman steps into Danny’s arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jealously flares in his chest as Danny wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tight.

Eventually they pull apart. She smooths down the hair, tucking the whisps behind her ears. “I knew you were busy.” She turns, looks straight at him. Raises her eyebrows. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Danny?”

“What? Sure. Of course.” Danny looks over at him. Then panic flashes across his face. “This is…”

“John Miller,” he cuts in smoothly, offering his hand as he uses his alias. “You were here the other day, when I had breakfast.”

She frowns. “Before the attack. Yes, of course I remember.” She fixes Danny to the spot with her gaze. “So you _do_ know him. He is actually a friend?”

There’s a pause. “He’s not just a friend,” Danny says into the silence. “This is Steve. Steve McGarrett.”

The woman’s eyes go wide. “You’re _the_ Steve? The one he’s always talking about.”

Steve studies Danny’s face. Tries to read him. Tries to understand. Danny’s supposed to be living under an alias. Yet this woman knows about _him._

“Don’t worry,” Danny says, with a weak grin, as if sensing his uncertainty. “I only told her good things.”

He narrows his eyes. “Thanks. I think.” He slides his attention to the woman. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“This is Kate.” Danny rests his hand on Kate’s elbow. “She’s my partner.”

Suddenly he feels sick. “Your partner?”

“My work partner,” Danny explains, his eyes nervously shooting back and forth between the two of them. “We own this diner.”

Steve stares back at him. Then he looks around the diner, really taking it in for the first time. It _is_ diner, not a restaurant, like they’d both dreamed about at home. But now he knows who owns it, he can see Danny in it. The natural wood counters, carefully varnished to make them shine in the overhead lights. The soft lighting in each booth and the dark leather seats, that look inviting, casual yet intimate. The flowers in tall, thin necked vases, that speak of care for the customers. It’s so Danny.

Kate and Danny are still watching him. Kate’s hand slips down to rest on Danny’s hip. Casual, like she does it all the time. He forces himself to smile. “Congratulations,” he says, squashing the flare of jealously in the pit of his stomach, that’s threatening to make him say something really stupid right now. “You’re a brave woman working with this putz.”

Kate stands taller. “Danny’s great,” she shoots back, looking him straight in the eye.

Steve can’t help himself: he matches her stance. “I know. I was his partner for seven years.”

Danny raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. That’s enough. He’s just kidding you,” he adds, raising his eyes skywards at Kate. Turning, he waggles a warning finger under his nose. “Steve. Behave.”

Resisting the urge to grab it, he fixes a grin on his face instead. “Yes, Danno.”

Danny’s expression morphs to fond exasperation. Kate’s reaction is much more interesting: she looks angry. “I thought you said only Grace is allowed to call you Danno?”

Danny suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Yeah, well. This genius isn’t good at doing what he’s told.” He shuffles on the spot. “Anyway, what are you doing here? We’re closed on Wednesdays.”

“You said you had an emergency. From your voice, I figured it was something to do with your…family.” Kate shifts her gaze to him. Flicks just as quickly back to Danny. “Thought I’d catch up on the food preparation for you. I was about to fix myself some breakfast. You want some?”

Danny jumps on the idea like a drowning man spotting a life-raft. “That’d be great.”

“Good.” Suddenly Steve finds himself the focus of Kate’s attention again. “Pancakes, wasn’t it?”

He forces himself to relax too. Just a little bit. “That would be great, thanks,” he manages as Kate turns, her hand lingering on Danny’s waist just a second too long.

“What is wrong with you?” Danny hisses, as Kate disappears into the kitchen.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong? Then why the hell are trying to mark your territory? You’re like a dog pissing up a tree.”

Turning his back on Danny, he picks the nearest booth and slides into it. Each space is set with a napkin and cutlery. Ignoring Danny, who’s slid into the seat opposite, he picks up the napkin and folds it one-handed. Unfolds it. Folds it up again. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Danny grabs his hand. Stills it. “You keep telling yourself that it might actually come true.”

Exhaling slowly, he makes himself look into Danny’s eyes. To hold his gaze. Finding out Grace had sent the leaflet, not Danny, had been a shock. But it was still his choice to be here, not just in the diner, but in Georgia too. He’d _needed_ to know Danny was living the life he’d imagined for him, to see it with his own eyes. Now he’s here though – now he can see the reality – nothing is turning out like he’d figured it would.

Right now, all he can think is: _why the hell did I come here?_

_TBC_


	13. Danny

Danny’s always wanted Steve and Kate to meet. He’s imagined their first meeting plenty of times. In his head, they’d exchange stories, take notes, probably have a lot of fun at his expense. They’re very alike in many ways: stubborn, hard-working, generous and kind. So he’s always thought they’d get on.

What he hadn’t imagined is this: Steve and Kate facing each other over the table like a stand-off at the OK Corral. Both of them are eating their pancakes, while keeping one eye on each other. It would be funny if he wasn’t so tired. A night of patchy sleep on his couch hasn’t left him in the best frame of mind to sort this out.

Struggling to know what to do, he falls back to safe territory: he talks shop with Kate. She looks after the books, employs people, makes sure they have money in the bank. He takes care of the stock, the menu and the cooking. It’s a partnership that works. He’s been out of the loop for a nearly a week now – first in New Jersey, followed by a few days worrying about Steve – and although Kate’s more than capable of keeping the place running, it’s not what they agreed when he came on board after her Dad died.

As he agrees what supplies they need to order from the wholesaler, he keeps one eye on Steve. Steve’s stabbing his pancakes with his fork like they’re a perp who’s trying to run for it. Occasionally he puts a forkful of the pulverised pancake into his mouth. He chews slowly, all his attention on his plate.

“Danny? Did you get that?”

Blinking, he drags himself back into the conversation. Kate’s sitting beside him in the booth, a handspan between them. He conjures up a flicker of a smile. “Got it. We’re nearly out of rice.” Pulling up the list on his phone that he’s been compiling, he starts typing one-fingered. “I’ll add it to the order.”

Steve glances up at them then goes back to slow-chewing his food.

_That’s gotta hurt,_ he thinks, his own jaw twinging in sympathy as he watches Steve eat. The bruising looks even worse under the low lighting in the diner. Rubbing his hand across his face, he tries to get his thoughts straight. Tries to block out the negative vibes coming from his friends.

“You look tired, Danny.”

Kate’s voice is low. Warm. Concerned. He smiles gratefully back at her: they always look out for each other. “It’s been a long week.” Tilting his head from side to side, he tries to loosen the tension in his shoulders. Checking the list one last time, he turns his phone off. “I’ll get to this once we get home. We’re going to the Town Hall to pick up from Steve’s things from Chief Beck. Right, Steve?”

Steve looks up. The pancake is virtually untouched. “Sure.”

Danny sighs inwardly. He knows that tone. “Once you’ve finished your breakfast, we’ll go.”

“I’m done.” Steve pushes his plate away. Wipes his mouth with his crumpled napkin. “I’m gonna use the washroom.”

“He’s not what I imagined,” Kate says, as Steve limps out of sight. “He’s not very…friendly, is he?”

“He’s in pain,” he says, not missing the way Kate had frowned at Steve as he’d left. He shakes his head at himself; that had come out way too sharp. Too defensive. Taking a breath, he tries again. “We never thought we’d see each other again. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Sure.” Kate places her hand on his forearm. Squeezes gently. “If I can help, if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

He covers her hand with his. “Thanks.”

“So what do I call him?” she asks as she pulls her hand away. “In public I mean. Is it John or Steve?”

He curses silently. “We haven’t discussed it.”

Kate raises her eyebrows. “Well, you’ve got the five minutes it’ll take you to walk to the Town Hall to decide.” She pauses. “And if he stays? What are you going to do then?”

_If he stays_. “Steve’s been pretty much out of it. There hasn’t been time to talk.”

“Right.” Lips pursed in a tight line, she slides out of the booth and gets to her feet. Leaning forward, she catches his gaze. Holds it. “I know he was your friend but you’ve made yourself a life here. Don’t let him destroy everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

He’s never heard Kate sound so serious. A nervous laugh escapes. “He won’t.”

Kate takes a step back. Crosses her arms. “You called him a danger magnet—”

“That was a joke—”

Kate waves towards the back of the diner. “They were men with _guns_ out there, Danny.”

“That wasn’t his fault.” Looking away, he takes a calming breath raises his hand in apology. He’s on the verge of shouting and Kate’s looking angrier by the second. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, okay. I really am.”

Kate huffs. Chewing on her bottom lip, she looks away. “I’m just saying… Don’t let him talk you into something you don’t want to do just because you feel guilty. We…we’ve got a good thing going here.”

His brain blanks out for a second. “ _We_?”

“You,” she replies, panic flashing across her face as she meets his gaze. “Just…just be careful is all I’m saying.”

_You don’t know anything about him or us,_ he wants to shoot back but the washroom door is swinging open. “We need to talk about this,” he says instead.

She nods. Sharp. Curt. “I’ll put a food parcel together for you. You can collect it on the way back.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he starts but she’s already striding back towards the kitchen, acknowledging Steve with another curt nod as they pass each other.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, watching her go.

“Peachy,” he sighs, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “Let’s go.”

Outside, he pauses just long enough to make sure Steve’s following, before he starts walking towards the Town Hall. His mind is whirling with questions. None of this is working out how he thought it would.

“Hey, slow down.”

Looking round, he comes to a sudden halt. Steve’s limping badly. His lips are clamped together in a mulish thin line. 

“Sorry.” He sticks his hand out to help, withdraws when he registers the look on Steve’s face. They start walking again, at a slower pace. It feels weird: usually he’s trying to keep up with Steve and his stupidly long legs. “You can wait in the truck if you—”

“I’ll manage.”

He bites back the retort on his lips. Now is not the time to start their first fight in five years. “Once we get in there, they’re gonna ask you questions. We should get our story straight.”

“We’ll go with the story I’ve been using,” Steve tells him, briefly looking both ways before crossing the road. “I’m a friend from New York State. I’m here looking for land to build a cabin on.”

“They’re gonna want details, babe—"

Steve scowls down at him. “I’ll handle it. Just follow my lead.”

He opens his mouth to protest. Closes it. Back in the day that plan wouldn’t haven’t phased him. Now he feels like a dancer who hasn’t practiced with his partner for years. Before he can explain that, he see someone he knows walking towards them. Gil Evans. 

Gil’s the adult leader of the local Boy Scouts troop in his spare time. During the week he’s the swimming team coach at the local high school. Gil’s a good friend, a breath of fresh aid in a town where the population has an average age of 65 plus. More importantly, he’s not an idiot. Evasion won’t be possible. 

Grinning, he goes in with a full charm attack instead. “Gil, how you doing, man?”

Gil detours, walks over to join him. “Danny. Heard you were away?”

He shrugs, takes on the persona he’s worked so long perfect. “Three days in Pennsylvania for my brother’s birthday. Glad to be home, you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Gil agrees, enthusiastically. “Why would you want to live somewhere else when you could live up here in the mountains? Am I right?”

“You’re right.”

Gil’s gaze settles on Steve. He frowns, his eyes sliding over Steve’s face. “Hi. Do I know you?”

Danny schools his face to calm. Underneath though, his heart is thumping like mad. “This is my friend—”

“—John S Miller,” Steve cuts in smoothly, emphasising the middle initial. He offers his hand. “Everyone calls me Steve.”

Gil shakes his hand. Then he peers at Steve’s face again. At the bruises. “Man, someone got you good there. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck…” He trails off, a look of horror growing on his face. “Hey, you’re not the guy who stopped those bank robbers and saved Billy’s life are you?”

“Yes, he is,” Danny jumps in, taking Steve by the elbow and gently nudging him along. “That’s where we’re going now, over to the Town Hall to talk to the Chief.”

Gil steps back, letting them go. “Billy’s a good friend. We went to high school together. We should go out one night, let me buy you a beer,” he offers, with a nod to Steve. “It’s the least I can do.”

Danny nods for both of them. “Steve’s not sure how long he’s staying. I’ll see you on Monday night, okay.”

“Does everyone know everybody?” Steve whispers furiously, as they carry on walking.

Danny resists the urge to laugh at the look of consternation on Steve’s face. Everyone having their noses in everyone’s business is Steve’s worse nightmare. It’s not his idea of fun either. But conversely, living somewhere where everyone knows each other is really useful when strangers (aka criminals) might be trying to find out where you live. “They’re okay. Mostly.”

“What did he mean about Monday night?”

“Local Boy Scout troop,” he explains, giving Steve another nudge to steer him out of harm’s way as they weave their way through a group of elderly tourists who are being led by a young man holding a folded umbrella above his head. “I help out whenever they’re short of volunteers.”

Steve scowls. “Really? When we were working on ‘Steve’s’ it took up all our spare time.”

“I like to keep busy.” _It means I have less time to think. “_ We’re here.” Leading Steve up the short flight of stairs to the front entrance of the building, he pushes the double doors open. “It’s not exactly the ‘lolani Palace,” he whispers, voicing what he always thinks when he walks in here. “They’re expecting us,” he adds with a wave to the young man at the front desk. He gestures back at Steve. “We’re together. This is John Miller.”

It’s impossible to miss the moment the young man recognises Steve’s name, or the way he tracks Steve as they continue through the entrance hall and along the corridor. “You’re getting quite a fan base there.” 

Steve doesn’t answer: he’s busy scanning the area around them as he walks. Whatever he’s seeing clearly isn’t making him happy.

“Stop doing that,” he chides, patting Steve on the back to move him along. “You’re gonna freak them out. Correction: you’re gonna freak them out more than they already are.”

Steve shrugs him off. “The security in here sucks. I could break in without breaking a sweat.”

“Don’t even think about it—”

“Someone should tell them—”

“Sure but not today.” He raises his hand to bring Steve to a halt. “Please? The last thing we need to be doing now is making ourselves more visible than we already are.”

Steve nods, his head going down like a scolded child’s. They start walking again.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Steve’s spoken so quietly, he nearly doesn’t catch what he’s said. As the words register, his heart sinks. He can’t deny that he wishes their reunion was problem-free, in more ways than one. But some good has come out of it: “Grant says Officer Petersen is back home and recovering. He should be back on duty in a week or two.”

Steve exhales sharply. “Good,” he says, more to himself than Danny. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Slowing, he digs up an encouraging smile. Tries not to notice how tired Steve looks or the awkward way he’s carrying himself. “Okay, we’re here, babe. You ready to do this?”

Steve limps to a halt. Falters. Instinctively he reaches out to grab him. Their hands brush for a second, giving him a moment to register warm skin. Then Steve’s pushing himself upright, forcing his body to work for him. A smile flickers across his face, a faint parody of his normal grin. 

“I’m ready. Let’s do this.” 

H50H50H50

Chief James ‘Jimmy’ Beck is a career police officer, just a few years from retirement. Tall, white-haired and with rosy red cheeks and a waistline that’s probably seen a few donuts in its time, he’s often the first choice to play Santa Claus at the local kindergarten each year. Danny doesn’t know his full history but he does know that after thirty years in Atlanta PD, he moved to Coalsville to oversee the ten officers plus one detective who make up the police force for the town and the surrounding area.

When he’d found out that he, Danny, had been a police officer in New Jersey PD who had retired due to injury (a busted knee – not a difficult thing to pretend) he’d instantly taken him under his wing and introduced to him to people in town. 

When he knocks on the Chief’s door, it opens instantly. The Chief waves him, gestures at the seats on the side of desk. “Sit. Sit.” He nods at Steve, offers his hand across the desk. “You must be John—”

“John S Miller,” Steve confirms, taking his hand and a seat. “John was my Dad’s name. Everyone calls me Steve.”

“Steve.” The Chief shrugs. Smiles. “I hear I’ve got you to thank for saving one of my officers.”

“I was just doing what anyone would have done in my place.”

The Chief studies him for a moment. “Billy Petersen tells me you were pretty fast out of the blocks.”

Steve tugs at his earlobe, not meeting the Chief’s eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve had some experience.”

Danny suddenly finds himself the centre of the Chief’s attention. “You guys know each other?”

“We met in New Jersey,” Steve cuts in smoothly. “Danny was working a case.”

The Chief considers that. “It’s a small world.”

Danny squashes the sense of foreboding that’s making it difficult to think. Or talk. If the Chief digs into their history much further their already flimsy cover will be blown. “How’s Billy?”

The Chief brightens, as he knew he would. “Better. It was a shock, you know. Poor kid.”

“It’s not the kind of thing you expect to happen here,” he agrees, because he knows that’s what he’s supposed to say. And it is kind of true.

Slumping back in chair, the Chief loosens his tie. “I came here to retire, Danny. I was going to play golf three times a week. Now I’ve got US Marshals swarming all over us like they’ve got a big brown bear in their hive.” His eyes flick over to Steve and back again. “This shouldn’t be happening. Not in my town.”

He nods. Beside him Steve does the same. “We heard those guys abandoned their truck. The Marshals were tracking them. Did they get them?”

The Chief’s face darkens. “No. The track went cold at the river. They’ve still got people up in the mountains, looking.”

He squashes the surge of anger the news brings. “It’s getting cold out there at night. Unless they’ve found cover they won’t be up there for long.”

The Chief grins. It’s all teeth, no humour. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll kill themselves up there.”

A heavy, awkward, silence falls.

Steve clears his throat. “I was driving a camper van. Any idea when I can get it back?”

“It’s still impounded. I can get you your clothes and any personal belongings though.” The Chief runs his palm across his stubbled chin. “The Marshals want you to hang around for a while longer. They’ve got questions. You got a problem with that?”

Danny holds his breath. Steve’s body has gone tense. He hopes the Chief hasn’t noticed but a glance in the Chief’s direction tells him that hope is dead already. He smiles, nudges Steve to get his attention. “You can stay with me as long as you need to, babe.”

The use of the ‘term’ babe gets raised eyebrows from the Chief. But it seems to break Steve out of whatever inner conversation he was having with himself.

Steve smiles faintly. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Always happy to help the police.”

At least he sounds sincere, he thinks, letting the breath go slowly. The Chief seems to have bought it too: leaning forward on the desk, he smiles. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll call Danny if we need you. You can pick up your belongings down the corridor, second door on the right.”

He takes that as their cue to leave. Pushing back his chair back, he offers the Chief his hand again. “See you in the diner on Sunday?”

“Wouldn’t eat my Sunday lunch anywhere else,” the Chief confirms. He shakes Steve’s hand too. “Good to meet you.”

They’re at the door when the Chief clears his throat. “Steve?”

They both turn. Steve automatically stands to attention. “Chief?”

The Chief nods to himself, as if he’s something’s suddenly become clear. “Would you show my guys some of those moves of yours? As long as you feel up to it,” he adds, gesturing at his shoulder. “You’re going to have some time on your hands, seeing as you’re staying around for a while. ”

Steve glances over at him. He doesn’t look happy. Not at all. “I guess so. Right, Danny?”

He sighs inwardly. This isn’t the way he envisaged this meeting going. He’d wanted to keep is simple. Every time they talk to someone, everything just gets more complicated. “Sure,” he answers with a casual shrug that he’s _so_ not feeling. “Why not.”

H50H50H50H50

Danny drives them back to the cabin. Apart from the odd grunt of pain when they bounce back up the track to the house, Steve doesn’t say anything. It’s such a contrast to their trip into town that morning, their discussion about peanuts and white-water rafting. For a while there, just for a few minutes, it had been _his_ Steve he’d been talking to. It was like being back in Hawaii again.

His heart sinks when Steve refuses his help to get out of the truck. He’s about to call him on it but this is stoic Steve making an appearance. The shutters are down. His expression is closed. There’s going to be nothing he can do until Steve tells him what is up.

Carrying the takeout bags, he follows Steve inside. Wishing, not for the first time, that the cabin was bigger or at least had a couple of walls in it for privacy, he heads for the kitchen area. From here, with his back to the room, he can at least pretend to not notice Steve as he struggles to get his jacket off.

There’s a huff. A muffled curse. Then footsteps behind him. “I gotta use the bathroom.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he’s just in time to see Steve closing the door behind him. Resting both hands on the worktop, he drops his chin to his chest. “Damn it.”

Listening hard, he can hear Steve walking along the porch and down the step. Reminding himself that Steve’s more than capable of going to the bathroom on his own – even with a busted shoulder - he switches on the radio and unpacks the food from the diner. There’s a big bowl of chilli with all the toppings. Rice, part-cooked and ready for the microwave. Two slices of Kate’s signature home-made chocolate and salted caramel tart. And four beers, condensation running down the bottle necks as he puts them in the cooler.

He’s got the chilli warming in a pot in the oven and the rice in the microwave by the time Steve reappears. Licking a few drops of chilli off his fingers – it really is very good – he watches as Steve starts pacing around the room. It doesn’t take him long before he’s done a full circuit. Standing by the bed he fidgets, rubbing at his sore shoulder.

It’s painful to watch.

Opening a few cupboards, he pulls out the plates and cutlery they are going to need. “Let’s sit at the table.”

Steve takes the hint, and the plates, and starts laying everything out.

They both work in silence. The only sound is the radio newscaster forecasting warmer, dry weather for the next week. Danny sends up a silent prayer of thanks for that. Good weather means more tourists, and more customers. It does mean he’ll need to go back to work though, at least for a few days. Glancing over at Steve, at this small cabin which feels even smaller right now, he wonders what Steve’s going to do, stuck in here on his own.

Sighing inwardly, he files away that problem for later. Pulling the food out and putting it into serving bowls, he takes it over to the table. Heading back, he retrieves two beers, one of which he puts in front of Steve as he sits down.

Steve stares at it like its unexploded ordinance. “I’m not sure I should be drinking beer.”

“I think we both need it right now.” Taking a seat, he portions out the food on two plates and starts to eat.

“It’s good,” Steve says, around a mouthful of food.

“Of course it is.” He flashes Steve a grin. “I made it.”

Steve raises his eyebrows but carries on scooping food into his mouth, like he hasn’t eaten for days. If the purpling bruises on his face are hurting him he’s not showing it. 

Turning his attention to his own food, he tells himself not to stare. It’s not Steve’s neanderthal eating technique that’s got his attention: he’s used to that. It’s the conflicting emotions he’s feeling. Sharing something he’d cooked with Steve always used to be his favourite way to spend an evening. It was an excuse to spend time together, even if it wasn’t quite in the way he’d always wanted. But something about this moment is different. Disjointed. Unbalanced.

He lets Steve finish his chilli before calling him on it. “You’re quiet. Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve pauses mid-scoop. “Not really.”

“You know I’m going to keep asking until you answer, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Putting down his fork, Steve pushes his plate away. Rubbing at his shoulder, he stares at the table. “Fine. Okay. The guy in the street—“

“Gil?”

“Yeah. Gil.” Steve raises his head. “He said you went to Pennsylvania?”

He’s forgotten how uncomfortable it is to be the focus of Steve’s laser stare. He tells himself not to fidget. “Twice a year to see my folks. Once on my own, once with Grace and Charlie.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “You’ve been doing this all the time you’ve been here?”

“Just the last few years.” 

The frown deepens. “I thought you couldn’t do that, it’s not safe—“

He raises his hand to pause Steve’s line of questioning; he’s walking into territory he doesn’t understand. “I haven’t been _home_ for five years, Steve.”

“But you just said—“

“I said I went to Pennsylvania to see my Mom and Dad. I’ve never been back to New Jersey.” He wipes his hand across his eyes, rests it there for a moment. “I meet them for a few days at most, different places each time. It’s _safe_ okay?”

Steve drops his gaze, stares at the table top. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried and…”

Danny drops his hand. Takes pity on him. It really has been a long day. “Grant arranges it all. Buys the tickets, books the hotels. And Stan’s case, it’s considered low risk now.”

Eyes still fixed on the table, Steve huffs under his breath. Apparently being ‘low risk’ isn’t good enough for an ex-Navy SEAL with control issues.

Grabbing his beer, he takes a couple of gulps. He was right: he is going to need it. “You want to tell me what else is bothering you?”

Steve puffs his cheeks out, looks away. “It’s stupid.”

“What is?”

Steve slides further down the chair. Goes to cross his arms, aborts the move with a wince. “It was the diner, okay?” he explains slowly, with a sideways glance at Danny. “I mean…you said running a diner was more stressful than being a cop and yet…here you are, you’re running a diner.”

Danny pauses, choosing his words carefully: he’d guessed Steve’s silence was something to do with this. He’d had the same conversation with himself when he’d agreed to go into partnership with Kate. “I cook. Kate runs it. I know it was our thing but I had to do something, Steve. I got here and…and I had nothing.” He takes a deep breath. It’s not a time of his life he likes to remember. “They wouldn’t let me see Grace or Charlie. I had…nobody.”

Steve’s eyes meet his. Anguished. 

“Kate…she needed someone too. Her Dad had just died. She couldn’t run the diner on her own.”

“So you helped each other.” Steve slumps back in his chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose, tiredly. “I understand that. I’m glad you found someone you’re…close to. Someone who…cares about you and has your back. I really am.”

“But?”

“Look…I’ve been checking out diners across the state because I figured you might be working in one but now…” Pushing the chair back, Steve gets to his feet and starts pacing. “I mean I’m glad you’re doing something that makes you happy. But I guess…I guess I always hoped that maybe one day we’d still open a restaurant together and now…” He trails off, frustration written across his face. “I told you it was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, okay. It’s not.” Getting up, he intercepts Steve, stands in front of him to stop the pacing. “I get it, alright? All the time I’ve been here I’ve been wondering what you’ve been doing.” He taps the side of his head. “Up here, I had all these ideas and now I find out you don’t even live in the same house any more. It’s making me doubt everything else I’d convinced myself was true.”

Steve peers at him sideways. “Like what?”

Danny swallows hard. He’d hoped to have drunk a couple of beers before confessing this. He laughs, nervously. “You want to hear something really stupid? I’ve been telling myself you’d be married by now or in a relationship. I figured you’d have four kids by now—”

Steve recoils. “ _Four?_ It’s only been five years, Danny.”

He laughs again, more at his own stupid imagination than Steve. “You’ve been adding people to your Ohana for years, I figured by now…” He trails off. Steve’s wide-eyed confusion is doing strange things to his heart rate. “Like I said, it’s stupid.”

Steve sucks at his bottom lip. His eyes come up. “Who was I going to be married to?”

The question catches him off-guard. “What?”

“When you were planning my life out for me, who was I going to marry?”

_Me._ He shrugs. Struggles to keep it casual. “I dunno. I didn’t really think about it,” he lies. “Maybe Catherine?”

Steve’s expression goes blank. It’s like watching all the lights go out on a house. Steve goes to take a step around him, heading for the front door.

Taking a blocking side step, he puts his hand out to stop him. It makes contact with Steve’s chest. Instantly he snatches it back: it had felt like a bolt of electricity had gone down his arm. 

Steve felt it too: he can see it in his face.

_Shit._ “Look, I know this is weird,” he hears himself babbling, “I mean, beyond weird, right?”

Steve blinks back at him like a stoned-fish. “Right.”

“So, I think it’s time for me to suggest something I thought I’d never say.”

“What?”

“How about we don’t think about this too hard, huh? 

Steve blinks again. “’Kay.”

“Great.” He waits for more of a reaction. Then waits some more. Sighing, he takes the initiative, nudging Steve towards the sofa. “Can we please sit down?”

He’d been hoping that sitting side by side on the sofa, not being able to see each other’s faces, might be easier. As they sit in uncomfortable silence he realises all it’s done is resurrect more memories of Hawaii that he’d buried deep.

Resting his head on the back of the sofa, he stares at the ceiling. “Steve—”

“I’m happy for you,” Steve cuts in, leaning back into the sofa cushions beside him. “I really am, Danny. But you’re right, today was beyond weird. I had this idea in my head too about what you were doing, what your life was like but…” He takes a big gulp from his beer. “You’ve got all these new friends and this new life and it’s great but…I’m not part of it.”

“Steve—”

“I knew I wouldn’t be,” Steve pushes on, raising a finger in warning. “I mean, in my head, before I came I knew that. That’s what I wanted you to have and—”

“But before you came you thought I’d sent the leaflet, not Grace.” Reaching out, he covers Steve’s hand with his own: God, he’s _missed_ Steve’s touch. His heart races and he holds on tight as Steve makes to pull away. There’s too much pain in Steve’s voice to make him let go. 

He’s not stupid: he’s knows there’s so much Steve’s not telling him. Hell, there’s so much _he’s_ got to say to Steve. But there’s also no way they can solve this all tonight. Rolling his head towards Steve, he taps his hand. “What did I say about not thinking about this too hard?”

Steve rolls his head to the side too. Their faces are just inches apart. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, licks his lips. “We’re gonna have to at some point.”

Danny drags his eyes away from Steve’s lips. He can’t go there. He _can’t._ “It’s been just over 48 hours since we saw each other for the first time in five years. How about we…you know… just enjoy the moment. How about that, huh?”

Steve smiles at him. Almost shyly. “I can do that.” He clears his throat. “You got more beer?”

It crosses his mind that Steve’s still on antibiotics and pain medication: more beer – any beer – isn’t probably a good idea. But Steve’s eyes are already drooping with exhaustion. It’s doubtful he’s going to drink much of anything.

Retrieving two more beers from the kitchen, he takes his seat again and flicks through the TV channels, choosing a football game. The choice is more for Steve than him, but he settles in happily to watch it. Steve’s right, he has made new friends since he came to Georgia. But there’s not anyone he really enjoys just kicking back and watching TV with. Having Steve beside him, it’s like regaining a lost limb.

The game’s still in the first quarter when Steve begins to snore. Smiling to himself, Danny retrieves Steve’s beer before it goes everywhere.

Steve jolts awake, lets out a particularly loud snore. “Wha’s up?”

“Bedtime,” he explains, nudging Steve gently, to get him to move. “Come on, you can’t sleep there.”

Steve gives him a look that says ‘Yes I can’ but moves anyway. It’s a two man job to get him upright – from the way he’s grimacing it’s obvious he’s in pain and his muscles are stiff.

He steadies Steve as he sways, almost goes over. He’d been planning to let Steve go to the bathroom on his own but he rethinks the plan, sliding his shoulder under Steve’s arm. When Steve squeezes his shoulder in thanks, he knows he’s done the right thing.

They’ve got the trip to the bathroom down to a fine art now. Taking the arm brace off to get undressed, not so much. Back in the cabin, he bites his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything as Steve’s face crumbles with pain as the brace comes off.

Schooling his face to indifference as he slides Steve’s shirt off is even harder. The bruising on Steve’s body is turning purple, with yellow blotches around the edge. Anger flares in his chest as he slips a tee shirt up Steve’s arm and over his head: the dressing on his repaired collar-bone runs from his shoulder to his neck.

As gently as he can, he slips the strapping back on, adjusting the Velcro fastenings, until Steve’s face relaxes, the pain fading out. Steve’s face still looks grey through, with dark shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. That morning, as he’d helped Steve after his shower, he fought his own body as it tried to respond to the feeling of having Steve’s body under his hands. Now his empathy for Steve’s pain, his exhaustion, means that he helps him undress quickly, with no interruption from his libido.

Steve’s eyes close as soon as his head hits the pillows. Lips parted slightly, his body gradually relaxes as his body eases into sleep.

Perched on the each of the couch, Danny watches him sleep. He’d told Steve it was a weird thing to do, to watch someone sleep, but he understands why Steve was doing it: his brain still can’t believe that Steve’s actually here.

Swinging his legs onto the couch, he pulls the blankets off the back and shakes them out over his legs. Plumping up the cushions, he stretches out. The sofa isn’t very comfortable – the night before his sleep had been patchy – but there’s no way he’s going upstairs to his bed.

Tucking his arm under his head, he closes his eyes. His stomach is full of chilli. It’s warmed him to the bone. The beer’s helped silence the cacophony of questions demanding to be answered in his head, at least for now. Surprisingly quickly, he drifts off towards sleep.

He’s almost there, just teetering on the edge of sleep, when there’s movement from the bed. Instantly his eyes open, searching out Steve.

He frowns. Steve’s still asleep, the unbruised side of his face turned into the pillow, his eyes closed. As he watches he sees what caught the attention of his subconscious; Steve’s eyes are moving behind his eyelids. More noticeable is the way his fingers are flexing against the bed covers.

Steve’s dreaming.

Shimmying to the edge of the sofa, he reaches out for Steve’s hand. He’s been here before, more times than he can remember. Drawing small circles on the back of Steve’s hand with the pad of his thumb, he wills Steve into deep sleep.

Steve’s hand feels huge in his. The veins on the back of it are pronounced. There’s bruising here too, the signs of a hard fight. Fuck those bastards. _Fuck_ them.

Gradually Steve’s body stops moving, stops resisting the need to sleep. Reassured, he slumps onto the sofa, Steve’s hand still tucked inside his. Shutting his eyes again, he finally falls asleep.

TBC


	14. Steve

_“Lou? I’m looking for Captain Lou Grover?”_

_Steve’s brain stirs. Deep down inside his head – beyond the fog of the pain killers that are smothering him like a thick blanket – he recognises the voice. The frantic tone. It’s Renee._

_Responding to her call for help is harder. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t even open his eyes. Vaguely he’s aware of people around him. The horribly familiar smell of a hospital. Voices talking urgently. His body feels like there’s a huge weight pressing down on him. Focusing hard, he tries to lift his hand._

_Somewhere off to his left an alarm starts buzzing. Ignoring it, he concentrates harder._

_“Whoa. Whoa. I don’t know what you’re doing boss, but I really think you need to stop. You’ve got some worried people here, including me.”_

_It’s Tani. She sounds frantic too. It spurs him on to try harder._

_“Commander, I need you to calm down for me. We need you to stay still.”_

_“Steve, I know you can hear me.” It’s Tani again. “You’ve got to do what they’re telling you.”_

_“Okay, we need to take him down to the OR but he’s going to bleed out if we can’t get him to stay still. Jenny, push 75cc of…”_

_His brain blocks out the rest of the conversation. All it’s interested in is helping Renee. And Lou. Oh, God. Lou._

_An image flashes into his head of Lou, on the ground, bleeding out in front of him. He can’t move, can’t help him. Blinding pain is shooting through his leg. As he watches, the light fades in Lou’s eyes, right in front of him. “Jesus, Lou. No. Please, hang on for me, buddy. Hang on.”_

“Steve? Can you hear me?”

_This voice, it sounds like Danny’s. That’s not right. It can’t be right. Grabbing Lou’s arm, he searches for a pulse. “No, no, no,” he chants under his breath, his skin turning cold when he can’t find anything. “Don’t do this to me, Lou. Hold on. Come on. Hold on.”_

“Babe. I need you to wake up for me.”

_The blurred image in his mind swirls and suddenly Lou’s body is replaced with Danny’s. Danny’s shirt is stained with blood, in exactly the same place as Lou’s. Despair floods through him. He can feel tears on his cheeks._

_A sharp pinprick of pain shoots through his arm, like someone’s just pinched him. Flinching he tries to pull away. It happens again, harder this time._

“Steven. Wake up.”

_This voice, it’s definitely Danny. It can’t be, he thinks, but his mind is already responding: there’s a note of command in Danny’s voice he just can’t ignore._

_Focusing on Danny’s voice he fights through the fog that’s threatening to drown him. It’s like coming up from a deep sea dive. Gradually the darkness is replaced by a glimmer of light. Slowly the glimmer turns into a bright light._

“There you go.”

It’s Danny voice again. Soothing. Unable to do anything else, Steve opens his eyes. As his vision clears Danny’s face comes into focus in front of him. Panic flares: the last time Danny looked that worried he’d just donated half his liver.

Steve licks his lips, tries to make his mouth work. Everything feels so _heavy._ “’hat’s wrong?”

Danny puffs his cheeks, exhales loudly. “You were having a nightmare. A bad one.”

He blinks, searches in his head for the truth of what Danny’s just said. Everything’s so blurred. Unreal. What is real though is the pain in his ribs. Groaning, he tries to roll away from it. 

“Easy. Easy.” Danny’s hands are on him, stopping him from moving. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Gritting his teeth, he moves anyway. There’s something reassuring about the way Danny tuts at him while slipping an arm around his back, to help him sit up. 

He sits for a while, eyes closed, head bowed. All he’s aware of is the sound of his own breathing and the touch of Danny’s arm across his back.

Finally the fog lifts. Reluctantly he opens his eyes. The room around him – the living room in Danny’s cabin – rushes back in. He’s sitting in bed. Danny’s perched on the edge of the couch, beside him. Dressed only in sleep shorts and a tatty old grey tee-shirt he looks ruffled, like he’s been dragged out of a deep sleep. And worried. He looks very worried.

Danny leans down to catch him eye. “You with me?”

He swallows. God, his throat feels dry. Worse, he can taste tears on his lips. “I’m here.”

“Good. Good.” Danny pats him gently on the back. He lets out a shaky breath. “That was a doozy, babe.” A pause. Silence. Then the inevitable question: “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Staring at the bedcovers, he wills his heartbeat to slow. His skin feels clammy. The tee-shirt he’s wearing is clinging to his skin and the shoulder brace. If was at home right now, he thinks, he’d head outside to the backyard, dive into the sea and keep going until he’d obliterated the nightmare.

The sea is hundreds of miles away from here. It may as well be on the moon.

Danny starts rubbing circles on his back. “You want to go outside? Burn off some of that energy?”

Steve blinks at the concern in Danny’s voice. The love. The care. Cursing his emotions, he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

“How about we get you a shower,” Danny continues, seemingly un-phased by his, Steve’s, lack of communication, “and we go for a walk. I’ve got something to show you, I think you’ll like it. You up to that?”

Meeting Danny’s gaze, he forces himself to nod. The walls are closing in. “’Kay. I can do that.”

H50H50H50

The shower helps. The warm water eases the bruises, enough that he can muddle his own way through getting dressed. Any cursing is done quietly: he’s already worried Danny enough today and the sun’s only just up. He is still breathing heavily by the time he’s finished but it’s worth the effort when Danny sees him fully dressed, with only his boots and the shoulder brace to put on.

“Over achiever,” Danny huffs but he’s still smiling as he kneels down to tie up his boots. “You starting to feel better, babe?”

Steve nods, accompanying with a genuine smile. Everything still hurts but he his body is starting to feel like his own again. “So what’s the mystery? Where are we going?”

“Well it wouldn’t be a mystery would it if I told you,” Danny retorts, offering a hand to help him stand up. “Let’s get the jackets and I’ll show you.”

Once Danny’s zipped him into his jacket – the shoulder brace and the ribs really are a pain in the ass – he follows Danny as he leads him away from the cabin, further round the mountain. It’s not a path, more of a dirt track, only wide enough for them to walk in single-file through the undergrowth.

He breathes in the crisp, fresh morning air gratefully. Doing exercise, even something as easy as hiking, gives him an opportunity to concentrate on his body, not his mind. He registers the aches and twinges, adapts his gait to gently stretch his abused muscles. It’s not quite the zen state he can achieve when he’s swimming, but it pretty damn close. 

“Better?”

Blinking, the forest comes back into focus around him. Danny’s watching him over his shoulder, from his spot a couple of steps ahead. Wearing a padded jacket with a high collar that goes up to his ears, he’s also wearing a few days-worth of beard growth, well-worn jeans and muddy, scuffed boots, a striking contrast to the polished black brogues he’d worn in Hawaii. Danny looks at home here. 

Not sure how he feels about that, he focuses on the woodland around them instead. “This place is beautiful. Who owns all this land?”

Danny grins. “Me.”

He looks back over his shoulder. The cabin and the clearing have disappeared from sight. Having spent weeks pretending that he’s looking for land to build a cabin on, he’s become an expert on land prices up here. The _extortionately_ expensive land prices. “You own this land? _All_ of it?”

Grinning, Danny waves him on.

His mind racing, he follows. “So how much land are we talking about here?”

“Ten minute walk that way until you hit the river,” Danny explains, waving to the right, as they carry on walking. “Twenty minutes that way,” he continues, waving to the left, “though I got a tenant out there. Ricky. He keeps himself to himself.”

“A tenant?”

“You know you keep repeating what I’m saying, right?”

Steve waves his free arm in reply: he’s not sure whether it’s to encompass the hugeness of the land around him, his irritation at Danny not answering his questions, or maybe it’s a sign of his total and utter confusion. “How did you get a tenant?”

Danny’s grin grows. “He came with the property.”

“Of course he did,” he mutters under his breath. Danny is enjoying his confusion way too much. “So this Ricky, does he have a bathroom?”

Danny stops. Glares back at him. “I have a bathroom.”

He bobs his head, like he’s considering that. “No, you have a shed with a bath in it. There’s a difference.”

Danny huffs, carries on walking. “If the bathroom isn’t up to your usual high standards,” he shoots back, using air quotes around ‘high’, “then you’re welcome to go out into the wilds and go all Terminator, Steven.”

“I think you mean Rambo, Daniel.”

“You know what I mean,” Danny shoots back, waving a hand in his direction. “GI Joe. Whatever you want to call it.”

_It’s Navy,_ he’s about to reply, when suddenly he’s distracted. The forest has opened up into a small clearing. In the middle is a barn. The same log construction as the cabin, it’s smaller but with a high pitched roof and no windows.

Danny grins at him. Eyes shining, he looks like a kid on Christmas morning. “We’re here.”

Steve follows him into the clearing, the argument about the bathroom forgotten: Danny’s excitement is infectious. There is a large, sliding door at the front. With growing interest, he notes the keypad locks on the doors. Something else catches his eye though as he waits for Danny to tap a number into the keypads: his heartrate speeds up. “There are cameras up there.”

The keypads click open. Danny pushes the door open, just far enough to let them in. “Wait here,” he instructs, waving him in, and pulling the door closed behind them. “I’ll get the lights.”

He does as he’s told, waiting in the darkness. He can smell damp wood and engine oil. For a second, he’s back in his Dad’s garage in Hawaii, working on the Mercure with him. Then there’s a loud click noise and the barn is flooded with a harsh, white light.

It takes his eyes a moment to adapt. When they do, his brain has trouble believing what its seeing. A few minutes ago they were out in the forest. Just the two of them, not a sign of civilisation in sight. Now he’s standing in what he can only describe as a man cave. Or at least, what his dream vision of a man cave is: a work bench runs all the way round the sides and there are work tools thrown everywhere. In the middle there’s something covered with a tarpaulin which looks truck-size. More intriguingly, there are two big safes at the far end: they’re large, up to his chest height.

Beside him Danny chuckles. It’s a warm sound. Fond. “I knew you’d like it.”

He shakes his head, still not sure what he’s seeing. “You built this?”

Danny barks with laughter. Points at himself incredulously. “Me?”

Steve shrugs. Danny has a point: things haven’t changed _that_ much in five years. “How then—”

“Survivalists built this place, remember?” Danny tugs his elbow. “Come on. I’ll show you round.”

He goes where he’s led, his attention already drawn to the tools. As they walk round the barn, his fingers twitch with the need to touch them. Some of them are ancient – probably the same type of tools the original homesteaders would have used to build their cabins – but there’s some new stuff too. Expensive stuff.

It doesn’t explain the high-level security though; There’s keeping a place secure and then there’s locking it up so good that even an ex-Navy SEAL would have to think twice about how to break in. “What’s in the safes?”

Danny worries at his bottom lip with this teeth. It’s a sure sign he’s nervous. “I’ve got something else to show you first.”

He watches as Danny kneels down, next to the safes. The wooden planks are covered in years of dirt. Danny wipes away the dirt, revealing a metal ring set into one of the planks. Danny pulls at it. Several planks come up, joined together. As they rise brackets are revealed underneath, extending as the planks rise, stopping them from falling back down. 

Steve leans down to get a better view under the planks. There are rough wooden steps disappearing into the darkness. “What the hell…”

“Survivalists,” Danny says, using the word again like it’s the answer to everything and why hasn’t Steve figured that out yet. “They did some dumb shit and unlike Ricky they didn’t keep themselves to themselves.” He rolls his eyes. “They knew they were being monitored by several government agencies so they built this. The tunnel, it goes to the cabin.”

He kneels down to get a better look into the tunnel. His bad leg twinges in protest. “Your cabin?”

“Who else’s cabin would it be, genius?”

The tunnel is dark. Claustrophobic. The smell of damp earth and rotting wood is much stronger now. He’d had to bend over double to get in there. Even for Danny, it would be a tight fit. Nausea threatens: it’s the last place on earth he’d expect Danny to go. “You’ve tried it…I mean, you’ve been down there?”

Danny runs his hand over his head, smoothing down his hair. “I had to check it was safe for Grace and Charlie.”

His breathing stutters. “Grace and Charlie?”

“We were in danger. I needed to know we had a way out.”

Danny’s spoken so quietly, Steve can barely hear him. There’s no mistaking the fear in his voice though. It’s infectious. “You told me Stan’s case was low risk now. _Jesus_. They could have followed me, Danny—”

Danny’s hand on his chest stops him. Without thinking about it, he leans into it.

“We’re safe,” Danny says gruffly. “Safer than we were back then,” he corrects, tapping Steve on the chest with his forefinger. “This was me channelling you, babe. Kind of ‘what would Steve do right now’.” The air quotes are back.

“So then you did exactly the opposite, huh?” he jokes weakly, suddenly too overcome to offer anything else. Swallowing hard, he looks around again with fresh eyes. The locks and cameras suddenly make sense. His gaze falls on the covered item in the middle of the room. “What other tricks you got up your sleeve?”

Danny gestures at him to grab one corner of the tarpaulin. As he does as he’s told Danny walks round to grab another corner and together they pull it back.

For the second time in just a few minutes, he’s lost for words. Under the covering is another Silverado truck. Unlike the beaten up old model that Danny’s driving, this one looks brand new. Running his eyes over it, they come to settle on the glass in the windows. Peering at the driver’s window, he taps at it. “Is this…is this bullet-proof glass?”

“Grant arranged it for me.” Danny’s watching him, arms crossed. “Stan and Rachel have got the same setup.”

Steve runs his hand over the paint work. It’s a deep blue. Pristine. “So what, that shit heap you normally drive is what…a decoy?”

Danny raises his eyebrows. “Can you imagine me driving this around town every day?”

He smiles despite the seriousness of the conversation. “It would definitely get you noticed.” Reaching the back of the truck, he pushes back the cover. There are four travel bags in there. Black. He recognises them instantly. “Your go bags?”

“Yup. Me, Grace, Charlie. Rachel. Everything we need if we had to get out of here in a hurry.”

His heart stops at the last name. He forces himself to ask the question: “Not Stan?”

Danny shrugs. If he’s aiming for casual it doesn’t fool either of them. “It’s not like I wouldn’t let him in the truck if he asked me.”

“And Rachel?”

Danny dips his head, looks away. “She’s their Mom. What would you do, huh?”

Steve turns away, not trusting himself to answer. He’s not a cruel man. But when it comes to protecting Danny, he’s not a generous man either. It’s time to change the subject. “You’ve got weapons?”

Danny kneels by the first safe. Punches a number into the keypad. “Grace’s birthdate.” He turns his attention to the second safe. “Charlie’s birthdate.”

Filing that information away, he hunkers down beside Danny as he opens the first safe. As it swings open, he whistles under his breath. It’s a gun cabinet. Semi-automatic weapons, sonic grenades, smoke grenades and revolvers. It’s enough to start a small war. Or at least get Danny and his family out of here.

“Well?”

He drags his eyes away from the guns. “Well what?”

“You feeling okay?” Danny frowns. Waves at the cabinet. “It’s _guns_. I figured you’d be excited.” He peers at his face. “You sure you’re okay? You want to go back to the house?”

Steve breathes, tries to ignore how close Danny’s lips are to his right now. “I’m fine. It’s just…was there…did you really think you’d have to use this stuff?”

Danny chews at his bottom lip. “For a while, yeah, maybe I did.” He closes the first safe. Opens the second. The heavy metal door swings open to reveal three shelves, stacked with electrical equipment. There are screens on the top one: Danny presses a button and they light up to reveal the video feed from the cameras. He presses another button and the screens flicker and change: now it’s images of the area outside of the cabin.

Leaning in to get a better look, he squints at the screen. “You’ve got monitoring equipment back at the cabin? How did I not see that?”

Danny flashes him a half-smile. “They’re built into the roof. I’ve got a laptop in my bedroom that I monitor it from. You should have seen me hanging off the roof. Grace threatened to take photos and send them to you.”

Steve grins back. Now he _is_ impressed. “You did good, Danny. Real good.” Surveying everything he sobers quickly. There’s one thought that keeps circling in his head: has been for five long years. “I should have been here.”

Danny switches off the screens. Slams the door of the second safe shut. “We talked about this already.”

“Did we?”

Danny gets to his feet. Head down, he wipes his hands on his jeans. “You had to stay. I had to leave. We had no choice, either of us.”

The sad resignation in Danny’s voice is crushing his heart. Cursing the restriction of the arm support – all he wants to do is hug - he reaches out for Danny’s shoulder with his free hand. Rests it there. “And now?”

Danny raises his head. Their eyes meet. The corners of his lips flick upwards. Shy. Uncertain. Under the bright lights his eyes are a deep blue, swimming with emotion. Even with a beard and dark shadows under his eyes that hint at many sleepless nights, he looks fucking amazing.

Steve inches forward, unable to do anything else. They’ve always been like magnets, attracted to each other. His world has zeroed in to just him and Danny. The air is buzzing with electricity. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Danny’s phone rings.

For a second longer they stare at each other. Then Danny looks away, regret clouding his face. Taking a step back, he pulls his phone out, flicks the screen on, his eyes darting back and forth as he reads a message. Sighing deeply, he stuffs the phone back in his jacket pocket. “It’s Kate. There’s a problem at the diner.” He waves vaguely at the door. “I gotta go, help sort it out.”

Automatically, he goes to follow him: it’s hard-wired in his brain. “I’ll come with.”

Danny’s gaze turns inward: he’s considering it. The regret is back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” His eyes fall on the first safe. The guns. “I usually clean them once a week. They’re overdue.”

Steve squashes his need to argue, his need to be close with Danny. He’s not in Hawaii any more. He doesn’t have that right. “I’ll get right on it.” Unzipping his jacket, so he can at least use his other hand, he starts the awkward process of taking it off.

Instantly Danny is back at his side. “I won’t be long,” he promises, helping to ease the jacket off. Taking a step back, he hovers. “Um…if you need to go back to the cabin you’ll have to lock up. The light switch, it’s up there on the wall on your right.” He pauses. Looks nervous. “The code on the door, it’s your birth date. Oh and you’ll need this.” He digs in his jacket pocket. “It’s the front door key for the cabin.”

“Danny—”

“I’ve got to go.” Danny’s already moving, disappearing out of the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

Silent falls in the cabin. Steve looks around, suddenly aware he’s on his own for the first time in days. Rather than being liberating, it’s making him feel uneasy. Like he’s invading Danny’s space. Back in Hawaii, he’d never felt uneasy in Danny’s space. _Never._

Shaking his head, annoyed, he tells himself to focus. Stuffing the key for the cabin in his pocket, he makes a space on the workbench and takes a rifle out of the safe. Methodically, he takes it apart and starts cleaning it. There’s something comforting about the smell of gun oil and the familiar routine. 

It’s awkward with his shoulder strapped up. His shoulder twinges as he works. Pain, he reminds himself, can be a good thing. Exercise is the only way he’s going to get fit again.

Gradually his mind unwinds, along with his body. In place of the tension comes more questions. What happens when he’s back on his feet and he has to leave? Are Danny’s feelings the same for him now as they were in Hawaii? Why is telling Danny how he feels about him a more frightening prospect than facing down the Taliban?

“Steve? Steve, you in there?”

Steve jerks back to the present. There’s someone outside, a voice he doesn’t recognise calling his name. The main door is still cracked open: whoever it is could just walk in. Palming the handgun he’s just cleaned, he uses the Silverado as cover and creeps to the front door. Raising the gun, he peers outside.

TBC


	15. Steve

Grant is standing a few feet away, on the other side of the door. “I come in peace,” he drawls. Raising his own gun, he mimes putting it back in its holster. “Don’t shoot.”

Steve eyes the US Marshal suspiciously. He hasn’t lowered his own gun. “How did you know I was in here?”

“Danny told me. I saw him driving into town.” Grant settles his gun in its holster, clips the safety strap on. “He also told me you’d blow my head off if I didn’t make my presence known.” He pauses. Frowns. “You’re not going to blow my head off, right?”

“Not this time.” Steve forces himself to relax. Takes a step back from the doorway. “Guess you better come in.”

It takes all his self-control to turn his back on Grant and walk back to the bench: his limp feels more pronounced than ever. This is Danny’s friend, he tells himself as he puts one rifle into the safe and pulls out another. He leaves the loaded gun on the bench where he can reach it though.

“The Atlanta office asked me to come over here.” Grant’s followed him over to the work bench. “They’ve got a couple more questions for you.”

Steve turns his attention to taking apart the second rifle. “I’m listening.”

Grant leans back against the workbench, crosses his arms. “We both know you weren’t involved with that gang.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I didn’t want to miss the chance to talk to the famous Steve McGarrett.”

Wiping his hands on a cloth, he glances over. Grant looks amused. “Famous?”

Grant’s amusement turns to a full grin. “You’ve got quite the fan club. Grace and Charlie never used to stop talking about you. About your beach. Shave ice.” His voice drops. “They used to ask all the time if you were okay. Especially Grace.”

Steve swallows against the lump of emotion in his throat. “I miss them too.” He turns his attention back to the rifle, carefully laying the parts out on the workbench. “You gonna ask me those questions?”

Grant watches him for a second longer, his eyes dropping to his hands working on the rifle. Then he pulls out his phone. Scrolling through the screens, he looks up. “Here we go…”

As he answers each of Grant’s questions, he carries on working on the rifles. Grant’s questioning style is direct but polite. Efficient but with carefully thought out questions. He’s not surprised: there’s something about Grant that suggests he’s ex-military. “Army or Navy?” he hazards as Grant puts his phone away. 

Grant flicks up an eyebrow at him. “Rangers. 75th Infantry.”

He nods, slowly. Grant is ex-Special Operations, like him. “Figures.” Putting the rifle back together with one and a half working hands is fiddly. He passes the barrel to Grant. “Hold this.” They work in silence for a while, shared experience bringing them together, despite the tension still in the air. Eventually though his natural nosiness gets the better of him. “How’d you end up becoming a US Marshal?”

“Iraq. Afghanistan. My wife wanted me home.” He watches Steve, sideways. “Men like us, we can’t just take a desk job.”

He goes to agree, stops himself. Ever since he and Lou got shot, he’s not so sure how he feels about going back on the frontline.

Grant hands back the parts of the rifle he’s holding. “So here I am.” He wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’ll go back to the task force in Atlanta. I’ll find out for you when they’ll let you leave.”

Steve feels himself bristle. Reins it back in. Being told what to do doesn’t sit well with him. But it’s not Grant’s fault either. “They still angry with me?”

Grant snorts. “Don’t take this the wrong way but right now, you’re way down on their list of things to be mad about.”

He frowns. Takes a guess: “They still haven’t caught the guys who were planning to rob the bank.”

“Nope. Wherever they are, they’ve gotta be holed up good by now. There are a lot of places they could be. We’ll get them,” Grant adds, determination hardening his voice. “They don’t know the mountains like the locals do.”

Steve nods, squashes the urge to offer to help. They are not on his island anymore. And even if they were, he’s not exactly fighting fit. The truth hurts. Grabbing a rag, adding a drop of oil, he scrubs at the stock of the gun to clean it.

Grant shifts his feet. But he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. “Did Danny tell you how much work he did on this barn and the cabin?”

He raises an eyebrow at Grant’s question. Stopping what he’s doing, he looks around. Really looks. “Danny? I mean, I know he fitted the CCTV but this place?”

“Both of these buildings were shells when we raided them. Kind of places you’d keep animals in.”

He schools his expression to neutral; jealously is stirring in the pit of his belly. Grant sounds like a proud parent talking about their child. “And yet you still gave it to him.” He thinks about that. Comes to a conclusion. “You didn’t want him to stay.”

Grant’s expression turns sheepish. “We figured if we made it hard for him through the first winter he’d run back to Hawaii.”

Steve can’t contain the laughter bubbling behind his ribs. “You didn’t know Danny.”

“No, I didn’t know Danny.” Grant’s laughter mirrors his own. “He’s one stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Yes, he is.” Now he’s the one who sounds like a proud parent but he doesn’t care. He can’t remember when he’s been prouder of Danny.

Grant sobers. Reaching past him, he starts putting the rifle together. “He’s working hard to make a life here. It’s tough. He’s only just started getting by.”

Steve stills. His heart has sank to the ground. “Getting by. Sometimes…sometimes that’s got to be enough, right?”

“Is it?” There’s a note of judgement in Grant’s tone that wasn’t there before. “I’ll tell you something. When he first came here, he had this swagger. It was like he was always looking for a fight, you know?”

He does know. The way Danny rolls his hips as he walks: he can see it clearly in his mind’s eye. He swallows, hard.

“It disappeared.” Grant meets his gaze. Holds it. “That what happens when people join WITSEC. They disappear. Blend into the background. Even fighters like Danny. That’s what the programme does, it takes everything away from people.”

Steve picks up the barrel of the rifle. The weight of it is reassuring. It stops him from punching the workbench, to release his growing sense of anger. “That’s a problem?”

“Usually people reinvent themselves,” Grant continues as if he hasn’t spoken. “Self-defence. Danny did it for a while but since you’ve been back, so has the swagger.”

“You’ve been watching his _swagger?”_

Grant pinches the bridge of his nose. Lowers his eyes. “I don’t always like the people I work with, It’s an occupational hazard. Most of them are bastards trying to cover their own asses. Stan…well, he was just an idiot who got in over his head. It’s the families that suffer the most.”

“And Danny.”

“He’s my friend. He shouldn’t be but it’s hard not to like him. Right now he’s happy and he hasn’t been. Not for a long time. As his friend, that makes me happy too. But professionally…” He trails off, scans the barn. The safes. The half-covered truck. “Professionally, you make me nervous.”

He drops the barrel. It rolls off the workbench, hits the ground with a thud. “Are you threatening me—”

“I’ve worked hard to keep them secure.” Grant places a hand on his good shoulder. “All of them. People coming in and out of their lives, it threatens their safety.”

Steve takes a step forward. Shrugs off Grant’s hand. “I know that.”

“And yet, you’re here.”

“I thought I was being invited.” He catches himself, tries again. “I thought Danny wanted me here.”

A muscle in Grant’s jaw jumps. “Just because Danny didn’t send the letters doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you here.”

“But still, I sense you’ve got a problem with that.”

“Danny, he’ll do anything to make his family happy. Those people he loves. Even if it means not getting what he wants.”

“I know that.”

Grant’s eyebrows flick up. “Do you? I’m not sure.”

He doesn’t bother to keep his anger hidden this time. “You don’t know anything about me.” 

Grant dismisses that with a shoulder shrug. “At some point soon you’re going to need to make a decision. When you do, I need to be the second person you tell after Danny.” His expression hardens. “You understand me?”

“My relationship with Danny is none of your business—”

“Oh yes it is.” Grant’s expression is hard as flint now. Steve recognises it: he’s seen it plenty of times in places like Iraq and Afghanistan. “You play by our rules. Not yours. Understood?”

Steve straightens his shoulders. Pain shoots across his neck and down his spine. “Copy that.”

“Good.” Grant’s expression softens, like they’ve just been talking last night’s football game. He pushes himself away from the workbench. “They’ll leave the van behind the diner.” Straightening his coat, he heads for the door. “Your phone and laptop are back at the cabin. Good job by the way. The encryption had our tech boys scratching their heads for a while there.”

He feels a pang of pride at his own work, despite wanting to dislike Grant. He allows his lips to flick up in a half smile. “And my gun?”

“Ah…” Grant looks regretful. “I’m afraid you won’t be getting that back.”

“Figures.” He gestures at the safe. “Doesn’t matter anyhow. Not now I’ve got these to play with.”

Grant nods, an understanding passing between them silently. Their primary roles in life are to protect Danny and his family. Neither of them have a problem with that.

Grant’s nearly at the door, when he stops, his expression thoughtful. He half-turns back. “The CSI team found your passports and papers under the wheel arch of the van. I’ve left them at the cabin too. Took some persuading to get them back for you. They’re good. Must have cost a fortune.”

A fortune is an underestimation. “Some things are worth it. We both know they’re illegal documents though. Why’d you get them back?”

“They’re too good to waste.” Grant shrugs. If he’s trying to be casual it fails. “You might need them one day.”

Steve tries for a smile. “I hope not.”

“Me too.” Grant pauses, studies his face. “Umm…you gonna be alright getting back to the cabin?”

When he grins this time it’s genuine. “Danny told you to ask that, didn’t he?”

Grant shrugs again. More casual this time. “Like I said, he worries about the people he loves.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, unable to stop a wistful tone creeping into his voice, “yeah, he does.” Gesturing at the door, he injects more confidence into his voice. “I’ll see you around.”

It’s a relief when Grant leaves without saying anything else. Putting the final parts of the rifle together, he places it in the safe and closes it. Deconstructing and reconstructing the weapons won’t offer him a distraction now, not after his discussion with Grant. Making a mental note to come back the next day with Danny to pull the tarpaulin back over the truck – there are some things he really can’t do with a bum shoulder – he struggles back into his jacket, switches out the lights and heads out.

Typing his birth date into the keypad feels both natural and weird at the same time. Knowing that Danny thinks of him every time he comes up here makes his heart pitter patter with hope and love. His brain though, it still worries that Danny needs this stuff at all. Stepping back from the barn he scans the outside, mentally making a few operational additions.

_Why waste your time doing that? You’re not staying._

The thought appears from nowhere, blindsiding him. Shaking his head, he turns away from the barn, shoves the thought deep back in his mind. The reality is he’s got no idea what his plans are. And after his talk with Grant, he’s even further away from a decision, let alone being ready to discuss it with Danny.

Finding his way back to the cabin isn’t difficult. It’s getting colder though. Looking up through the trees he can see a bank of dark rain clouds moving in. Shivering, he speeds up.

He makes it back just as the weather move in. Sheltered by the porch, he watches as the heavens open, delivering fat blobs of rain that bounce as they hit the ground. From the edge of the trees the deer watches him – Rita, he remembers, digging around in his brain. Breathing in deeply, he smiles at the freshness in the air, at the rhythmic patter of the rain hitting the leaves of the trees.

Briefly he considers sitting outside for a while. A twinge from his shoulder and leg make him dismiss the idea. Limping indoors, he closes the door behind him with only a tiny bit of regret.

Wrestling his boots and jacket off takes longer than it should. With a tired sigh he leaves them by the front door. Shivering again, his eye is drawn to the open fire. The log cabin is amazingly snug and draft-free. But it’s been years since he’s sat indoors with an open fire.

Feeling like a naughty school boy, he kneels down by the fire and lights it. Rocking back on his heels, he watches the flames build. Grinning, he adds more kindling, making the flames flare and the wood crackle. _Neanderthal,_ a little voice in his head chides him, sounding like Danny. Chuckling to himself, he gets to his feet.

Looking around, he takes in the main room. The rugs, the throws, the thick tartan curtains hanging either side of the windows and the door. The place is so warm and welcoming, so _Danny._ With the heat of the fire on his back, a yawn escapes. Shaking it off, ignoring the lure of his bed, he starts to investigate.

It’s difficult to imagine the cabin was just a shell when Danny got it. Looking closer though, he can see the signs. The floorboards are a patchwork of new and old planks. The doorframe and windows have been widened, rough gauges in the wood showing where it’s been cut out. The worktops and cabinets in the kitchen are a mixture of fresh and worn wood too, like it’s slowly settling in as it’s used.

He hesitates at the bottom of the staircase. Back in Hawaii they’d wandered in and out of each other’s houses without asking. Going up there, though, does feel like he’s intruding. He’s about to back off when a mental image of Danny rolling his eyes at him, pops into his head. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters to himself as he takes the first step, “I know, I know, your home is my home, babe.”

At the top of the stairs, he looks back down. Takes it all in. This is a home, waiting to be filled with people. A pang of homesickness hits him. Or maybe it’s actually a memory of a better time. The time before Danny left.

Frowning, he opens the first bedroom door.

This room is Grace’s. It hasn’t got the glittery, teenage touches he remembers – and doesn’t that make him feel sad – but it’s still feminine. There’s a thick duvet and throw cushions on the metal framed double bed. The floor is covered in brightly covered rugs, softening the hardness of the wooden walls. Under the small window there’s a table and chair, a perfect place to work and look out over the forest. 

What really catches his eye though, is the wardrobe in one corner. Closer inspection confirms it’s been made out of old floorboards, and sanded down to bring out the grain in the wood. Running his hand down it, he picks out the swirls in the wood. It’s rugged but there’s something beautiful about it. Love has been put into its construction.

The next bedroom is bigger, with space for two single beds. There’s only one in it now. It’s covered in another thick duvet, but this one is blue. There aren’t any throw cushions but there’s a patchwork blanket folded up at one end, and a stack of pillows at the other. There’s a desk here too. But instead of books this one has a half-finished model kit on it: a fighter jet. And there are shelves dotted everywhere, with painted models on them. Not just jets but ships too and some other figures he’s pretty sure are Pokemon characters.

This is Charlie’s room.

He stands there for a while, just looking. There is something deep inside him that identifies with this room. It’s nothing like the room he and Danny decorated for Charlie, back in Hawaii. It has a feeling of loneliness. Of _being_ alone.

Stepping out, he rests his forehead against the closed door.

It’s a while before he moves onto the last bedroom. He’s not sure he’s ready for whatever is behind that door. Taking a deep breath, he opens it.

This room is smaller, like it’s been put there as an afterthought. The space is dominated by the king-sized metal-framed bed in it. The placing is back to front – the foot of the bed, not the head of the bed, is against the wall – but as he looks out of the window, he gets it. Waking up here in the mornings, you’d get an amazing view of the sun rising over the trees.

Without thought he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out of the window. Closing his eyes, he reaches out with his senses. This is Danny’s room. Even if he’d come in here first he would have known it. It smells of Danny’s aftershave. His mind starts adding extra details, imagines Danny here in this room.

_Fuck._

Jumping up, like he’s been stung, he walks out. Pulls the door shut on the room and the thoughts that come with it. Annoyed with himself, he goes back down the stairs.

Desperate for a distraction – anything that stops him thinking about Danny in that bed, of being in that bed with Danny – it occurs to him that the tunnel Danny showed him comes up in this cabin somewhere. Checking out the floor, under the rugs, he comes up empty. There are only two places he hasn’t looked: under the sofa and the bed.

A few minutes later, he’s looking down at a trapdoor in the floor. Danny hasn’t lost his sense of humour: it’s under his bed. “Son of a bitch.” 

Falling to his knees, he sticks his head into the hole. This one has wooden steps too: in better condition that the ones at the other end. There’s a large metal box bolted in, next to the top step. It’s got a number pad lock. Taking a guess he types in his birth date. It clicks open with a beep.

“Danny, Danny, Danny,” he whispers as he pulls the box open. Inside this one, there are two handguns and spare ammunition, plus a burner phone and three flashlights. A glance to one side confirms what he suspects: the escape route gives a clear line of sight to the front doorway. Kneeling down, grabbing a gun, Danny couldn’t fail to miss someone coming for him.

His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest as he puts everything back, then pushes the bed back into place. Sitting on the floor, he slides back until his back is resting against the bedframe. Then he lets his shoulders slump, rests his head in his hand.

“How the hell have you been living like this?” he says into the silence. This is so far removed from the life he imagined for Danny. He, Steve, is used to living his life in a state of alert. Danny deserves so much better.

Rubbing at his temple, he tries to get his thoughts straight. Failing, he retrieves his phone off the bed where Grant has left it with his laptop. Turning it on reveals eight missed calls from Lou on the day he was injured. Squashing the flare of guilt that accompanies them, he checks the time and making a quick calculation, he dials in a number from memory. It’s early where he’s dialling to: he’s surprised when it’s picked up after only two rings.

A male voice answers. “Hello?”

Steve tucks the phone under his chin, closes his eyes in relief at the reassuring voice of his brother-in-law. “Alika. It’s Steve.”

There’s a surprised intake of breath at the other end of the line. “Brother. Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” he replies, a smile playing on his lips. “I….er….I found him.”

“Danny?” There’s a hesitant pause. “You don’t sound too excited about that. What happened?”

Mary’s husband is a perceptive son-of-a-bitch. “Is Mary there?”

“Sure.” There’s the sound of a door opening and closing. Suddenly everything goes muffled: he can just about make out Alika and Mary’s voices. Then are more footsteps, quicker ones.

“What did you do, Steve?”

He rolls his eyes, even though he knows his sister can’t see him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.” Mary sighs. “Want to tell me what’s happened?” she asks, in a softer tone.

Easier said than done. Struggling for words, he shares the thought uppermost in his mind. “It’s not…it’s not how I thought it was going to be.”

“Is Danny alright?”

“He’s fine. He’s…he’s great.” He swallows, takes a deep breath. Admits something he’s been scared to admit to himself: “I’m still in love with him, Mary.”

Mary sighs again. Softer this time. “That’s good, right?”

“Coming here…I might have put him in danger.”

There’s a pause. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

It’s his turn to sigh. “Probably not.”

“So…what’s happening? Are you coming back?”

He laughs. Brittle. Suddenly incredibly tired. “I don’t know.”

Mary hums under her breath. “You know you’re not making any sense right now. What does Danny say?”

Steve steels himself, already knowing what’s coming. “I haven’t talked to him.”

“ _Steve_ —”

Dropping his head back onto the mattress, he stares at the wooden planks in the ceiling. “He didn’t send the money or the leaflet.”

There’s a surprised intake of breath. “Then who—”

“Grace did.”

“Oh.” There’s a suspiciously long pause. In his mind’s eye he can see Mary thinking this over, eyebrows furrowed, chewing at a fingernail. “That’s good too.”

Now it’s his turn to furrow his eyebrows. “How do you figure that?”

“Nobody knows Danny better than Grace. Well, other than you. If she sent it then it must have been for a good reason, right?”

He nods. Corrects himself: “Maybe.”

“ _Maybe?_ You’ve just found the guy you’ve been pining for and now—”

“I wasn’t _pining.”_

“Trust me, there was pining.” Mary huffs, a hint of impatience creeping into it. “You’ve got to talk to him.”

Steve covers his eyes with his free hand. He loves his sister but she’s disturbingly good at seeing right through him. “He didn’t invite me—

“Seriously?”

“How am I supposed to talk to him if I don’t know how I feel myself?”

“You just said you still love him.” She huffs louder. “Do you want me to come over there are do it for you?”

He can’t contain his snort of laughter. “You don’t even know where I am, Mare.”

“You think that’s gonna stop me?”

The snort morphs to a full-blown giggling fit. It really has been a tough few months. “Are you threatening me?”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Absolutely.”

Mary’s laughter rings down the telephone line. “You bet I would, big brother.” The laughter dies down to a hiccup. “Just…try talking to him, okay? You might surprise yourself.”

“Well thank you so much for overwhelming vote of confidence. I feel _so_ much better now.”

“Good.” There’s silence. The mood sobers. “We’re good here, you know that right?”

Tucking the phone further under his chin, he nods to himself. His sister is one of the strongest women he knows. “I miss you. All of you.”

“We miss you too.” There’s a fond smile in her voice. “Just don’t….just don’t come back unless you’re sure, okay?”

He hesitates, just for a second. It’s a promise with a lot of weight. “I won’t.”

They talk for a while longer. Simple domestic things. Cutting the call, he stares at the ceiling, imagines Mary, Alika and the children on the beach. 

God, he misses them.

The fire is burning well now. The cabin is comfortably warm, despite the rain hitting the windows. Levering himself onto the bed, he stretches out on top of the covers. He considers logging in to the laptop, contacting Lou. Dismisses it. Right now holding a conversation with Lou – who is equally as persistent as his sister – feels like way too much effort.

Closing his eyes, he wills his body to relax. Today is the best he’s felt since the attack, but that short trip to the barn his exhausted him. His mind drifts, mixing his memories of Danny in Hawaii with Georgia. He imagines family nights spent with Danny, Grace and Charlie. They’d cook dinner, watch a movie together, eat way too much popcorn. Then, once Grace and Charlie had gone to bed, he’d sling his arm around Danny’s shoulders and pull him close. They’d snuggle and watch a terrible late-night movie until, too tired to keep their eyes open, they fall asleep in each other arms.

He’s smiling as he falls asleep.

TBC


End file.
